1||H1^  ALONG 


TH£  Track 


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UjUyfJU     /O.     Zjdvv^yO-W, 


AND 


Other  Stories  and  Poems 


By 
Mrs.  GEORGE  J.  CROSS 


JAMES       H.       EARLE      &      COMPANY 
178  \A^ASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON 


Copyright,  1906 
By  Mrs.  George  J.  Cross 


All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS. 


I.  Lights  Along  the  Track 7 

II.  Clouds  and  Sunshine 13 

III.  Vacation  and  Vocation 29 

IV.  Lois  Lincoln's  Mission 43 

V.  My  Childhood 52 

VI.  Reunited 62 

VII.  A  Glad  Surprise 67 

VIII.  Glimpses  Along  the  Way      • 71 

IX.  By  the  Wayside        82 

X.  Unseen  Power 84 

XL  Homeless 87 

XII.  Only  a  Tramp 91 

XIII.  The  Last  Act        96 

XIV.  A  Fireman's  Child lop 

XV.  Memorial  Day 102 

XVI.  Saved  from  the  Bar-room 103 

XVII.  Saved  from  the  Fire 106 

XVIII.  Welcome  to  Boston 108 

XIX.  The  Fatal  Alarm 109 

XX.  Inspiration no 

XXI.  Extremely  Obliging 112 

XXII.  Sympathy         113 

XXIII.  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg 114 

XXIV.  In  Memory  of  the  Railroad  Engineer     .     .  116 
XXV.  Welcome  to  the  Grand  Army     .....  117 

XXVI.  Retrospection 118 

XXVII.  Old  Home  Week 119 

XXVIII.  Good-bye  Old  Home 121 

XXIX.  My  Village  Home 123 

XXX.  My  Horse        124 

XXXI.  Resignation  of  a  Railroad  Conductor    .     .  125 


Lights  Along  the  Track 


LIGHTS  ALONG  THE  TRACK 

I  WILL  take  two  yards  of  that  turkey- 
red  cloth,  please,"  said  Mrs.  Baker, 
after  keeping  the  clerk  waiting  some 
time.  She  had  meditated  whether  they  could 
afford  it,  and  had  decided  to  do  without  some 
other  things  and  purchase  it  instead. 

''Thank  you,"  she  said,  as  the  patient  sales- 
man passed  her  the  package  and  change. 
Then  she  walked  triumphantly  away.  It  would 
be  a  trivial  matter  to  many,  yet  she  had  given 
it  much  thought,  and  once  or  twice  had  even 
passed  the  linen  counter,  looking  askance  at 
the  coveted  cloth  which  now,  at  last,  was  hers. 

In  her  mind's  eye  she  saw  her  kitchen, 
cheerful  as  a  summer's  sunrise,  as  she  walked 
along  with  her  parcels.  The  oilcloth  carpet 
was   designed   in   large,   dark   red   checks;   the 


8  Lights  Along  the  Track 

walls  tinted  a  spruce-gum  shade;  the  sash  cur- 
tains were  white,  enlivened  with  cardinal 
sprays,  and  now  this  would  finish  the  warm, 
tender  glow  of  their  morning  room. 

When  Mr.  Baker  came  home  that  evening, 
he  found  everything  cheery.  The  aroma  of  tea 
and  other  fragrant  odors  greeted  him.  His 
little  wife's  face  was  prettier  because  of  the 
satisfied  expression  in  the  happy  eyes.  In  re- 
sponse to  her  questioning  gaze  he  remarked: 

'Tm  glad  you  bought  it,  Mae,  for  now  we 
are  better  prepared  to  invite  some  of  the  train- 
men up  to  tea." 

Mr.  Baker  was  only  a  brakeman,  and  like 
others  crossing  the  first  milestones  of  wedded 
years,  they  were  obliged  to  make  ''every  cent 
count." 

Year  after  year  passed  quickly  away,  and  yet 
they  had  not  afforded  another  tablecloth  to 
change  while  the  other  was  being  laundered. 
So,  from  time  to  time,  they  dined  upon  the 
table  oilcloth.  Mrs.  Baker  mended  the  red 
cloth  more  and  more,  and  finally  laid  it  aside. 
Those  years  behind  it  had  dealt  out  their  por- 
tions of  sickness  and  struggles  and  they  were 
still  trying  to   economize. 


Lights  Along  the  Track 


"Isaac,"  she  said,  "I  can  braid  that  table- 
cloth into  a  rug,  or  take  the  four  corners  for 
napkins  for  you  to  use  when  you  lunch  at  the 
station.     I  guess  I'll  make  them  right  away." 

Without  further  thought,  slash  went  the 
scissors  and  soon  the  whirr  of  the  sewing  ma- 
chine. 

Later  as  she  laid  the  napkin  over  her  hus- 
band's lunch,  her  mind  traveled  back  through 
the  years.  She  seemed  to  live  again  those 
peaceful  days  and  those  frugal  meals.  Her 
eyes  welled  with  tears  as  she  remembered  the 
little  face  in  the  high  chair.  Then  she  gazed 
Heavenward,  and  as  it  were,  seemed  to  lift  that 
"mystic  screen  dividing  soul  from  soul  and  life 
from  life,"  and  see  the  beautiful  Kingdom 
where  her  little  child  had  gone  to  Him  who 
gathereth  these  buds  to  blossom  in  that  vast 
region.  It  made  the  earthly  pathway  to  her, 
easy  to  climb,  although  it  leadeth  in  darksome 
ways. 

She  recalled  each  Christmas  around  the  festal 
board,  and  the  united  plans  across  it.  Other 
table  coverings  could  be  obtained  which  bore 
the  same  design,  but  not  one  in  all  the  uni- 
verse that  her  angel  boy  could  prattle  o'er  or 


lo  Lights  Along  the  Track 


that  would  contain  dormant  memories  of  her 
early  wedded  life.  She  felt  as  she  put  the  cover 
on  the  pail  as  if  she  had  been  talking  with  an 
old  friend. 

A  heavy  storm  had  hung  over  the  town  for 
many  days,  filling  the  road  with  streamlets, 
and  it  was  gulHed  out  on  either  side,  but  Mrs. 
Baker  was  fully  equipped  with  rainy  day  gar- 
ments and  rubber  boots.  As  she  took  up  the 
dinner  pail,  full  of  warm,  tempting  food,  she 
said  aloud, 

"I  guess  I'll  go  across  to-day,  the  road  is  so 
bad." 

She  was  but  half-way  to  the  station,  when  she 
heard  a  strange,  ominous  sound,  like  that  of 
rushing  water.  She  stepped  out  of  the  path, 
and  climbed  a  huge  boulder  in  order  to  study 
the  mysterious  elements. 

Lo,  to  her  startled  eyes  was  revealed  the 
fact  that  the  bridge  was  washed  away.  She 
grew  pallid  with  terror  and  was  nearly  bereft 
of  her  senses.  As  ''in  an  awful  dream"  she 
realized  in  a  short  time  that  the  Passenger  Ex- 
press was  due  at  Riverside.  The  bridge  was 
gone  and  she  must  save  the  train,  laden  with 
precious  humanity. 


Lights  Along  the  Track  ii 

The  hearts  on  yon  swift  coming  train, 
So  light  and  so  happy  this   moment, 
Are  rushing  to  terror  and  pain. 

There  was  the  red  napkin  in  the  dinner  pail 
that  she  could  wave  by  crossing  the  field  above 
the  bridge,  and  signal  ''danger  ahead." 

She  "prayed  instantly"  for  God  to  give  her 
strength  to  save  the  train.  Her  breath  nearly 
left  her  as  she  saw  the  great  monster  engine 
shooting  around  the  distant  curve. 

The  wind  and  sleet  seemed  to  blind  her,  yet 
she  waved  and  waved  the  red  napkin  franti- 
cally. She  heard  the  engine  slowing  up.  Now, 
she  felt  its  hot,  steaming  breath  as  it  passed 
her;  it  came  to  a  halt.  Falling  to  the  ground, 
she  remembered  no  more  until  she  found  her- 
self at  home,  and  able  to  tell  her  story. 

A  few  weeks  later,  the  night  before  Christ- 
mas, as  they  were  about  to  retire,  a  special 
letter  was  passed  them,  which  read  as  follows: 

Dear   Stranger    Friends: 

I  must  express  my  gratitude  to  you  for  saving 
the  train,  on  which  were  my  small  children  alone. 
I  feel  greatly  indebted  to  you  for  saving  their  lives. 

I  have  learned  that  there  is  a  sum  of  money, 
coming  from   others   to   you,   at   headquarters,  but  I 


12  Lights  Along  the  Track 

wish  to  send  mine  individually.  Enclosed  find, 
please,  my  check  for  six  hundred  dollars  ($600.00), 
as  a  Christmas  gift,  trusting  that  you  may  have  a 
memorable    Christmas. 

God  bless  you,  and  grant  you  many  pleasant 
Christmases  to  follow,  crowned  with  loving  deeds 
from   your   fellowmen. 

With  this  I  send  a  nice  red  table-cloth,  to  serve 
in  case  of  emergency. 

Yours    from   an    appreciative    heart, 

Hon.   James    F.    Dimmock. 

Kansas    City,    Mo. 

With  tears  in  her  eyes,  as  she  put  the  missive 
back  in  its  envelope,  her  husband  folded  her  in 
his  arms,  and  said: 

"So  this  is  our  reward,  little  wife,  for  your 
presence  of  mind.  Let  us  retire,  first  thanking 
God  for  his  wonderful  mercy,  and  then  say 
good-night." 


Clouds  and  Sunshine 


13 


II 

CLOUDS   AND    SUNSHINE 

Standing  with  reluctant  feet 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet. 

MARION  DOUGLAS  stood  on  the 
porch  of  an  old-fashioned  farm  house 
at  Clematis  Creek.  She  did  not  hear 
the  tinkling  cow-bells  o'er  the  lea,  or  the  merry 
whistle  of  the  chore  boy  as  he  guided  the  kine 
up  the  long  green  lane;  she  did  not  even  hear 
her  grandmother's  call,  "Take  the  milking  pails 
to  the  barn,  my  dear." 

The  only  sound  she  was  not  oblivious  to  was 
the  shrill  shriek  of  the  train  engine,  eight  miles 
away.  Hitherto  she  had  lived  a  quiet  life  with 
her  grandparents,  although  Boston  had  been 
her  birthplace.  Her  mother  had  died,  leaving 
baby  Marion  to  dwell  at  Clematis  Creek.  She 
had  always  been  contented  until  now.  She 
looked  away  over  the  blue  mountains  with  a 
deep  yearning  to  see  dear,  cultured  Boston. 


14  Lights  Along  the  Track 

She  pictured  ''the  Hub"  in  her  heart,  until 
she  longed  to  revisit  the  city  of  her  birth.  She 
was  awakened  from  her  reverie  by  the  supper 
horn,  and  as  she  sat  at  the  snowy  table  with 
the  hale  and  hearty  farmers,  partaking  of  the 
temptingly  rural  supper,  she  unconsciously  fell 
into  the  spirit  of  the  evening,  and  regretted 
that  she  had  day-dreamed  of  going  to  the  dusty 
city. 

Caressed  by  gentle  slumber  early  that  night, 
she  forgot  for  a  time  the  dormant  desire.  She 
lived  a  consistent  Christian  life,  surrounded  by 
the  calm,  subduing  influence  of  her  rural  home. 
She  had  adopted  as  her  vocation  teaching  in 
the  district  schools  in  adjoining  towns,  and  al- 
ways deemed  it  necessary  to  teach  her  pupils 
of  a  higher  self  and  the  way  to  attain  it,  lending 
the  atmosphere  of  her  own  rearing  until  it  was 
instilled  in  them,  and  in  later  years  was  made 
glad  and  happy  as  she  saw  the  seed  she  had 
sown  bud  and  blossom  along  the  varied  path- 
ways of  life. 

She  anticipated  that  when  the  summer  term 
ended,  she  might  be  able  to  help  at  home,  in- 
doors and  out.     Having  finished  the  term,  the 


Clouds  and  Sunshine  15 

interests  of  household  duties  were  already 
divided  with  her. 

The  months  flew  by  so  rapidly  that  she 
could  hardly  realize  that  the  harvest  season  had 
come.  She  was  now  assisting  her  grandfather 
to  ''heap  high  the  wintry  hoard,"  after  which 
the  fall  house-cleaning  was  begun.  They  had 
worked  from  "sun  to  sun,"  and  grandmother 
had  asked  her  to  procure  the  supply  of  kindling 
wood  for  the  morning  fire. 

As  Marion  was  cheerily  gathering  the  wood, 
a  young  man  drove  swiftly  up,  so  she  dropped 
her  wood  and  hurried  to  the  orchard  where  her 
grandmother  was  spreading  out  her  clothes, 
and  asked  her  to  answer  the  young  man's 
knock. 

'T  think  it  may  be  the  book  agent,"  she  said 
by  way  of  explanation.  Mrs.  Hope  had  been 
expecting  the  agent  for  the  book,  "The  Poets 
of  Maine,"  in  which  her  latest  poem  had  ap- 
peared. 

Marion  felt  quite  positive  that  this  gentle- 
man had  an  atmosphere  of  Portland  about  him, 
and  even  the  horse  had  a  dashing  city  trot. 
Mrs.  Hope  urged  Marion  to  open  the  door 
and  not  keep  him  waiting.     Miss  Douglas  pro- 


1 6  Lights  Along  the  Track 

tested,  declaring  emphatically  that  she  would 
not,  because  he  had  seen  her  sawing  wood. 
Grandmother  responded,  and  soon  returned, 
ejaculating: 

'Why,  it  isn't  the  book  agent  after  all.  It  is 
Mr.  Allen's  son  from  Boston.  I  knew  his 
father  when  we  were  children.  Go  in  and  en- 
tertain him  while  I  get  some  fruit." 

Reluctantly  Marion  obeyed  her  request  and 
introduced  herself  to  young  Mr.  Allen  by  say- 
ing, ''Grandmother  sent  me  in  to  talk  with  you 
while  she  gets  some  fruit  and  starts  the  fires. 
The  evenings  are  very  fall-like." 

Glancing  about  the  room,  Mr.  Allen  saw  a 
high  organ  and  asked  Miss  Douglas  to  play 
for  him,  saying  it  would  be  quite  a  treat  to  hear 
an  organ  again.  Seating  herself  at  the  organ, 
and  to  her  own  accompaniment,  she  sang: 

After  years  of  life  together, 
After  fair  and  stormy  weather — 
After  travel  in  far  lands, 
After  touch  of  wedded  hands: 
Why  thus  joined — why  ever  met — 
If  we  must  be  strangers  yet? 

The  gentleman  Hstened  attentively,  little 
thinking  that  the  sweet  song  just  rendered  had 


Clouds  and  Sunshine  17 

"touched  a  chord  in  his  memory  that  would 
vibrate  forevermore." 

At  length  the  singer  was  excused  to  serve 
lunch.  The  biscuits,  jam,  cake  and  cheese  were 
enjoyed  greatly,  and  Mr.  Allen  thought  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Hope  dear  old  people,  ''growing  old 
gracefully,  cheerfully  and  bright." 

**I  gladly  sacrifice  for  them,"  Marion  said. 
"It  is  not  any  merit  in  me,  only  doing  as  they 
have  done  for  me.  They  cared  for  me  when  I 
was  helpless — just  a  baby — and  now  in  their 
declining  years  I  should  care  for  them."  In 
reply  to  a  question  of  his,  she  said: 

"Yes,  I  do  often  wish  to  see  the  famous 
works  of  art,  hear  the  wonderful  musicians,  and 
attend  the  splendid  lectures  in  Boston,  but 
since  these  pleasures  are  denied  me,  I  choose 
duty,  and  in  this  remote  part  of  the  country,  I 
am  contented  with  that  duty." 

Still  Mr.  Allen  wondered  how  the  charming 
little  hostess  could  be  contented,  "way  down 
East,"  and  pictured  to  her  the  delights  of  the 
Hub,  its  many  points  of  interest,  its  inner  life 
among  the  narrow  ways  where  poverty  reigned 
supreme  and  made  "even  the  little  child  com- 


1 8  Lights  Along  the  Track 

plain,"  arriving  later  to  a  description  of  his  own 
life. 

He  described  the  Boston  Fire  Department, 
of  which  he  was  a  member,  until  she  could  al- 
most see  the  proud  horses  with  their  foaming 
mouths,  the  long  red  ladders,  the  lurid  skies, 
and  hear  the  dull  humming  of  the  engines.  She 
could  hear  the  cries,  "water,  there,"  and  ''well 
done,  boys,"  and  see  the  alert  firemen — brave 
laddies  all!  Mr.  Allen's  silver  badge,  gleaming 
in  the  firelight,  glittered  in  her  eyes  as  nothing 
had  ever  sparkled  before. 

The  time  came  for  him  to  go.  He  promised 
to  come  again  when  opportunity  presented.  As 
he  went  to  his  carriage  he  turned  back  and 
said  to  the  young  woman: 

''Miss  Douglas,  I  appreciate  your  hospitality 
and  would  like  to  write  to  you  when  I  return." 
Then,  in  a  wondrously  winning  manner,  he  said 
softly,  "I  hope  to  meet  you  again." 

His  horse  ran  at  will  that  evening,  crossing 
the  country.  Its  master  was  lost  in  thought, 
and  meditated  how  much  he  would  like  a  home 
of  his  own,  with  such  a  hostess  presiding  over 
it  as  had  entertained  him  so  royally.  Marion 
seemed  like  a  poetess  of  verse  and  song,  a  good 


Clouds  and  Sunshine  19 

cook,  painted  some,  and  was  a  bright,  merry 
little  person.  He  thought  he  could  never  make 
a  city  girl  his  wife,  if  it  were  possible  to  win 
this  noble,  talented  girl.  He  admired  her  un- 
assuming bearing;  it  was  uppermost  in  his  ad- 
miration. 

When  he  reached  home  he  entered  the  coun- 
try episode  in  his  diary  and  wrote  his  first  letter 
to  Clematis  Creek.  Marion  did  not  imme- 
diately respond,  as  he  had  anticipated.  She 
had  apparently  weighed  every  word  carefully, 
and  the  entire  letter  had  evidently  been  com- 
posed with  great  discretion.  After  a  third  pe- 
rusal he  decided  that  Miss  Douglas  was  not  to 
be  so  easily  won,  and  he  was  all  the  more  de- 
termined to  win  her.  He  wrote  and  told  her 
that  he  cared  a  great  deal  for  her.  As  those 
words  were  read  by  the  recipient  she  smiled 
satirically,  for  she  doubted  that  it  was  love. 

It  might  only  be  fancy — a  fascination  for  the 
time  being.  It  might  take  its  flight  as  it  had 
come — leaving  not  one  bright  spot  in  his  busy 
life,  so  she  would  not  offer  the  slightest  sug- 
gestion of  her  regard  for  him.  Her  proud 
spirit,  inborn,  seemed  to  check  her,  although 
she  often  repeated  to  her  heart: 


20  Lights  Along  the  Track 

I  shall  know  when  my  king  I  meet, 

My  soul  shall  rise  and  his  coming  greet. 

She  knew  she  had  met  her  king.  She  dwelt 
in  a  new  atmosphere  and  it  was  almost  as  if  she 
had  never  breathed  before.  There  was  another 
star  in  her  sky.  How  she  wrestled  to  conquer 
it.  She  was  not  blind  to  the  new  Hght  in  her 
sombre  sky.  Although  she  lost  no  ray  of  in- 
terest in  her  home  life,  her  heart  awaited 
eagerly  the  letters  from  her  king  among  men. 
She  did  not  weary  of  the  correspondence,  and 
Alton  Allen  was  not  in  danger  of  being  de- 
throned from  the  pedestal  in  her  heart. 

The  harvest  moon  rose  again  over  beautiful 
Clematis  Creek,  as  it  lay  embowered  among  the 
hills.  Again  she  greeted  Alton  Allen,  not  as  a 
stranger,  but  as  a  friend.  He  went  gunning, 
fishing  and  rowing  during  the  vacation  days, 
and  just  before  they  expired  he  asked  Marion 
to  promise  to  be  his  wife.  In  the  sweet  old 
story  he  omitted  the  cloud,  and  she — now  all 
eager  to  tell  him  how  much  she  did  care  for 
him — accepted  the  ring  that  sealed  her  mar- 
riage promise. 

She  forgot  her  desire  to  serve  the  dear  home 
circle,   nor   did   she   realize    that,   until   in   the 


Clouds  and  Sunshine  21 

birthday  of  the  spring  came  a  letter  bearing 
these  words: 

''My  vacation  is  earlier  than  usual  this  year, 
consequently  I  shall  come  for  you  in  the  month 
of  August,  and  bring  you  back  to  Boston,  dear 
Marion,  as  my  wife.  You  are  to  have  some  of 
your  brightest  day-dreams  realized." 

How  vividly  she  saw  the  home  leaving.  She 
wished  to  "bide  a  wee,"  but  she  had  promised 
and  held  that  vow  sacred.  Something  whis- 
pered within  her  that  he  cared  for  her  people, 
and  would  doubtless  arrange  matters  so  that 
she  might  visit  them  at  the  old  homestead.  She 
could  write  them  weekly  letters,  and  rest  in 
the  belief  and  knowledge  that  they  were  in  the 
care  of  Him  "who  careth  for  all."  So  in  the 
month  of  August,  Alton  Allen  and  Marion 
Douglas  were  united  in  marriage  by  the  pastor 
who  had  baptized  her  many  years  before.  She 
visited  her  old  haunts,  favorite  nooks  and 
meadows,  feehng  their  silent  farewells.  She 
appeared  quite  equal  to  the  trying  ordeal  of 
saying  good-bye  to  her  old  home,  leaving  love 
that  was  tender  and  had  proven  true  for  a  home 
and  a  love  that  was  as  yet  all  untried. 

"She  kissed  the  lips  of  kith  and  kin,"  and  re- 


22  Lights  Along  the  Track 

ceived    their    solemn    blessings.      She    walked 
bravely  down  the  path  to  the  stage,  for 

Waiting  her  coming  was  one  true  heart, 

Who  had  vowed  to  be  true  "till  death  do  us  part," 

Down  in  her  hillside  home. 
And  that  thought  bore  aloft  her  soul 
Until  her  feeling  she  could  control, 

Down  in  her  hillside  home. 

In  the  seat  on  the  train  she  found  a  paper 
and  as  she  picked  it  up  her  eyes  met,  first  of  all, 
these  words,  "Look  through  Paul's  mighty 
telescope  to  the  heavens  and  you  will  see  that 
all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that 
love  the  Lord."  Comforted  by  these  words, 
she  composed  a  poem,  "Good-bye,  Old  Home." 
She  was  awakened  from  her  musing  by  the 
trainman's  loud  call:  "Boston,  Boston,  don't 
leave  any  luggage  in  the  car!" 

Leaning  on  the  stalwart  arm  of  her  husband, 
she  entered  her  city  home.  What  a  sweet 
home  it  proved  to  be!  The  years  flew  by  as 
though  winged,  until  three  years  were  linked 
on  memory's  golden  chain.  Marion  sat  in  the 
dim  light  of  departing  day,  counting  over  the 
many  pleasant  trips  since  her  marriage,  to  the 
homeland. 


Clouds  and  Sunshine  23 

She  treasured  memories  of  entertainments, 
concerts,  excursions,  lectures,  and  above  all, 
the  peace  of  their  little  haven  at  this  eventide. 
Her  girlhood's  home  was  now  in  the  hands  of 
strangers,  and  she  fully  adored  her  new  home. 
It  had  a  double  portion  of  her  love,  as  she  knelt 
and  prayed  there  alone  as  the  golden  sun 
gilded  her  kitchen  windows,  throwing  a  halo  of 
light  about  the  little  form  of  the  sweet  woman 
communing  with  her  Maker. 

How  little  she  knew  of  the  shadow  that  hov- 
ered near,  threateningly,  or  of  how  soon  she 
was  to  be  thrown  upon  the  world.  On  a  bright 
July  morning,  when  all  nature  seemed  exultant 
and  everything  was  at  its  gayest,  a  cloud  came 
to  that  clear,  blue  sky,  and  cast  its  dark  shadow 
over  that  home.  It  was  not  a  false  mirage,  it 
was  cruelly  real  and  destroyed  the  little  haven. 
The  cloud-  was  the  coming  of  a  designing 
woman,  who,  in  her  artful,  practiced  manner, 
led  Marion's  husband  from  his  own  as  he  slept 
— asleep  to  the  pure  and  the  true,  to  the  home 
he  had  been  building,  to  the  faithful  wife,  to  his 
duty,  to  the  rich  fullness  of  right  living  and  the 
reward  in  heaven. 

The  awakening  was  sure.     He  must  awaken 


24  Lights  Along  the  Track 

from  that  restive  sleep  to  a  lifetime  of  regret. 

For  sins  indulged  while  conscience  slept, 
For  vows  and  promises  unkept, 
And  reap  from  years  of  strife, 
Nothing  but  leaves,  nothing  but  leaves. 

He  had  gone.  A  few  penciled  lines  informed 
the  waiting  wife,  "Never  to  return."  She  was 
alone,  outside  of  the  comforts  which  had  been 
her  environment;  alone,  at  the  mercy  of  busy 
Boston.  Now  the  sterner  realities  of  life  cast 
their  mantle  over  her  and  although  sick  with 
weeping,  she  determined  to  seek  a  little  room 
and  see  if  work  and  time  would  not  efface  her 
grief  and  sorrow. 

She  succeeded  in  finding  a  room,  which  she 
shared  with  her  landlady's  young  daughter, 
Leslie  Linwood.  She  was  able  to  economize 
by  doing  so,  and  felt  pleased  to  have  the 
friendly  girl  rather  than  be  alone  with  her 
thoughts,  memories  and  hopes. 

One  day  she  was  returning  from  lunch,  when 
from  an  open  church  door  she  heard  the  choir 
singing  at  the  Sabbath  service: 

I'll  live  for  Him,  who  died  for  me, 
How  happy,  then,  my  life  shall  be. 


Clouds  and  Sunshine  25 

Guided  by  unseen  power  she  entered  the 
church,  and  it  proved  to  be  the  beginning  of  a 
new  Hfe  for  her.  At  the  close  of  the  sermon 
the  minister  announced  that  owing  to  the  vaca- 
tion season,  teachers  were  needed  in  the  Sab- 
bath School.  Mrs.  Allen  went  up  after  the 
service  and  offered  to  take  a  class,  resolving 
to  ''live  for  Him."  A  class  of  ten  little  girls 
was  given  her  in  the  primary  department.  She 
looked  in  those  little  upturned  faces  and 
thought  of  the  Master's  words,  "Suffer  little 
children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them 
not."  And,  ''Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto 
one  of  the  least  of  these."  She  became  organ- 
ist, but  each  time  she  seated  herself  before  the 
organ  it  brought  back  to  her  vividly  the  scene 
in  the  old  homestead  when  she  had  first  sung 
for  Alton  Allen  the  old  ballad:  "After  touch 
of  wedded  hands,  why  thus  joined,  why  ever 
met,  if  we  must  be  strangers  yet." 

Later  on  she  became  superintendent  of  the 
Sunday  School  department.  Children's  Sab- 
bath dawned  joyously.  Mrs.  Allen,  with  fellow- 
teachers,  conducted  the  children  in  special  cars 
to  the  beautiful  Brookline  Reservoir,  where 
they  gathered  wild  flowers  after  the  long  ride. 


26  Lights  Along  the  Track 

They  went  merrily  through  the  fields,  singing 
one  of  their  childish  songs, 

Daisies,  daisies  everywhere, 
Daisies   drifting   through  the   air. 

She  forgot  her  grief  and  thanked  the  dear 
Lord  for  the. blessed  work  of  teaching  His  chil- 
dren. The  cars  resembled  flower  gardens  as 
they  re-entered  the  city. 

Alton  Allen,  in  the  ladder  house  window, 
entered  in  his  diary:  "Marion  retains  her 
strength  of  character,  even  though  I  ruthlessly 
cast  her  down.  That  scene  carries  me  back  to 
the  time  when  I  saw  her  amid  the  daisies. 
Hers  is  the  same  pure  face  to-day  that  it  was 
in  the  'red  letter  days'  of  the  past." 

But  for  the  alarm  of  Box  52,  that  broke  the 
spell,  he  would  have  spent  a  remorseful  eve- 
ning. The  next  morning  he  read  the  church 
bulletin:  "Concert  this  evening.  Birds,  Songs 
and  Flowers.  Program  arranged  by  Mrs. 
Marion   Allen,   Primary    Superintendent." 

He  was  to  all  appearances  absorbed  in  the 
morning  paper,  and  although  pleased,  did  not 
acknowledge  that  he  had  seen  the  notice.  Al- 
though he   had   forsaken   her,  he   felt   glad   to 


Clouds  and  Sunshine  27 

know  that  she  was  with  God's  children.  They 
never  met,  but  she  heard  frequently  that  he 
was  far  from  being  happy.  She  prayed  con- 
stantly that  God  might  forgive  him,  and  trusted 
that  He  would  with  pardoning  hands,  reach  out 
and  open  a  way  for  him  to  enter  through  the 
gates  ajar,  the  pearly  portals,  to  meet  the  King 
in  His  glory. 

Marion  enjoyed  the  companionship  of  Leslie 
Linwood.  Although  but  twelve  years  of  age, 
she  was  very  womanly,  and  a  good  pianist,  as 
well  as  an  omnivorous  reader.  She  was  always 
trudging  to  the  Public  Library,  choosing  read- 
ing matter.  The  child  was  so  considerate — 
always  keeping  a  late  magazine  on  the  table, 
and  would  have  the  gas  burning  brightly  to 
welcome  Marion  home.  She  would  strive  to 
be  at  the  piano  playing  a  favorite  piece  or  a 
march  from  the  March  King.  Oftentimes  they 
would  sit  in  the  quietude  of  their  small  sphere 
while  Leslie  played  nocturnes,  sonatas  and 
sacred  songs,  in  which  both  voices  would 
blend,  until  both  were  lulled  to  the  land  of  Nod. 
When  the  morning  sun  shone  brightly  in  the 
cosy  room,  Leslie  would  hastily  get  what  they 
called  a  rustic  lunch.     A  white  spread  would  be 


28  Lights  Along  the  Track 

laid  on  a  small  table,  with  dainty  china,  and 
the  breakfast,  consisting  of  boiled  eggs  and 
coffee  and  rolls  from  the  bakery  and  fruit  from 
the  corner  stand,  would  be  reHshed  and  deemed 
lit  to  ''set  before  the  king." 

There  would  be  a  brief  tete-a-tete  before  Mrs. 
Allen  started  off  to  work.  She  dined  at  a  down 
town  cafe,  and  there  became  acquainted  with  a 
waitress.  At  the  same  table  at  which  she  al- 
ways sat  was  a  wealthy  lady.  She  gleaned  from 
the  conversation  from  day  to  day  that  Marion 
desired  a  position  as  governess  and  after  being 
introduced  by  the  waitress,  she  offered  Marion 
the  position  as  companion  to  her  young 
daughter  Priscilla. 

Her  principal  study  was  to  be  music.  Her 
reci-eation  was  driving,  either  out  to  Chestnut 
Hill  or  Franklin  Park.  When  weary  of  drives 
about  the  numerous  park  systems,  they  would 
return  and  study  Mother  Nature.  Priscilla 
seemed  hungry  for  the  companionship  of  the 
young  girl,  so  Mrs.  Allen  interviewed  Mrs. 
Gregg  and  obtained  permission  to  introduce 
to  her  little  Leslie,  her  boon  companion.  They 
made  a  very  congenial  trio,  Marion  was  in  her 
right  sphere  at  last.     As  Priscilla  merged  into 


Vacation  and  Vocation  29 

womanhood,  she  exercised  careful  training,  lest 
like  Priscilla  Alden,  she  have  many  admirers. 
She  was  instructed  to  cultivate  the  habit  of  con- 
sidering well  before  deciding,  and  especially 
the  decision  that  she  might  make,  lest  she 
''marry  in  haste  and  repent  at  leisure." 


Ill 
VACATION  AND  VOCATION 

ANNA  WESTON  was  an  assistant  teacher 
in  the  Kindergarten  of  the  College  Set- 
tlement. She  had  achieved  great  suc- 
cess, but  on  account  of  her  ill  health  the  physi- 
cians advised  her  to  go  into  the  country  to 
regain  her  normal  condition  that  she  might 
resume  her  work.  She  had  not  a  parental 
home,  with  arms  of  parental  love  to  encircle 
her  in  this  hour  of  frustration.  Somewhere 
she  had  read,  ''Before  the  power  of  a  mighty 
resolve  the  hardest  walls  of  difficulty  must 
weaken,"  and  then  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  had 
said,  she  could  not  remember  exactly  the 
words,  but  the  gist  of  the  saying  was,  "When- 


30  Lights  Along  the  Track 

ever  things  are  hard  and  you  think  you  cannot 
endure  any  longer,  hold  on,  for  that  is  the  very 
place  that  the  tide  will  turn."  It  was  like  a 
tonic  to  her  tired  nerves,  and  she  resolved  to 
adopt  domestic  duties. 

She  was  offered  a  position  as  housekeeper 
for  a  Mr.  Frost  and  two  sons  in  the  country. 
This  avenue  seemed  providentially  brought  to 
view,  and,  as  she  thought  it  was  opened  by  the 
hand  of  Providence,  she  exchanged  references 
and  journeyed  there  very  sanguine  of  restoring 
her  health  by  exercise,  country  food  and  air. 

It  was  a  gray,  dismal  day  in  October.  The 
rain  poured  incessantly.  Mr.  Frost  piloted  her 
to  her  home — his  home,  from  the  depot,  and 
retreating,  said,  'T  have  the  noon  train  and 
shall  not  be  in  again  until  three  o'clock." 

He  had  been  a  conductor  of  the  N-.  Y.,  N. 
H.  &  H.  R.  R.  for  a  number  of  years.  As  she 
watched  his  train  glide  out  of  the  station  she 
thought,  'T  must  interest  myself  in  that  work 
as  well  as  the  home."  Just  then  the  boys  en- 
tered from  school,  the  older  one  introducing 
himself  by  saying: 

''Do  you  like  dogs?    Are  you  'fraid  of  guns?" 

The  younger  one   stood  with  arms  akimbo, 


Vacation  and  Vocation  31 

and  after  a  long,  wistful  gaze,  sweetly  said:  ''I 
— I — am  glad  to  see  you."  Her  whole  being 
seemed  penetrated  by  that  childish  expression. 
Somebody,  in  the  form  of  a  lonely  heart  of  a 
little  child,  was  glad  to  see  her — a  child  bereft 
of  that  tender  mother-love.  She  watched  them 
going  of¥  to  school  with  love  kindling  within 
her  for  these  boys,  who  were  given  under  her 
care,  to  train  along  the  first  roads  to  manhood. 

Now  that  they  had  all  gone  out  she  felt  a 
strange  homesickness  coming  on  her,  and  she 
gave  vent  to  her  feelings  by  a  "good  cry." 
When  Mr.  Frost  returned  he  found  her  curled 
up  on  her  Saratoga,  weeping  bitterly.  The 
tearful  face  did  not  freeze  him,  for  he  under- 
stood how  one  must  feel  to  lose  health,  posi- 
tion, and  to  miss  the  dear  faces  of  their  many 
friends.  The  rainy  day  did  not  add  warmth  to 
her  chilled  spirits.  At  length  Mr.  Frost  re- 
marked: 

"Cheer  up — open  the  piano  and  cheer  us. 
We  are  lonely,  too." 

Inspired  by  his  kind  words,  she  at  once 
began  a  regular  routine  of  work,  a  ''day  for 
everything,  and  everything  in  its  day."  The 
winter   came    and   went,    teeming   with    happy 


32  Lights  Along  the  Track 


hours.  Already  the  pussy-willows  were  nod- 
ding by  the  gurgling  brooks.  The  boys  now 
left  their  books  and  piano  for  outdoor  sports. 
John,  the  older,  built  a  dog-house  and  painted 
it  green.  A  strip  of  canvas  formed  the  door, 
through  which  the  little  dog.  Buster,  might 
dodge  in  and  out  at  will.  Then  he  excavated  a 
well  and  lowered  a  water  pail,  which  he  filled 
with  water  every  day.  He  attached  a  wire  to 
the  huge  old  apple  tree  which  sheltered  the 
Httle  house,  thence  across  to  the  cottage. 

He  fastened  a  chain  to  Buster's  collar,  which 
reached  to  the  wire,  so  that  he  could  trot  from 
his  house  to  the  doorstep,  where  he  would 
salute  invaders  with  his  houndish  bow-wow- 
wow.  His  green  house  was  situated  in  a  green 
spot  so  that  Anna  laughingly  termed  it  ''Little 
Ireland." 

One  bright  summer's  morning,  Mr.  Frost 
unchained  him  so  he  could  take  his  morning 
run.  He  was  frolicking  on  the  bridge  and  did 
not  hear  the  locomotive  thundering  along  the 
track,  and  it  struck  the  little  dog,  knocking  him 
into  the  river  below.  He  only  lived  to  swim 
ashore.  John  did  not  weep.  That  would  not 
become  a  high  school  student,  but  Anna  found 


Vacation  and  Vocation 


33 


in  John's  room  a  little  collar  and  chain  hanging 
on  the  wall,  suggestive  of  tender  memories  of 
the  little  white  dog. 

Mr.  Frost  did  not  Hke  to  see  the  empty  dog- 
house without  the  little  white  figure  running 
in  and  out,  so  he  had  it  removed  to  the  back 
orchard  and  transformed  into  a  chicken  coop, 
and  with  a  beautiful  brood  of  chickens  hopping 
here  and  there  it  lost  the  sad  appearance  it  had 
been  wont  to  bear. 

John  was  too  sensible  to  dwell  on  the  un- 
pleasant things  of  life  and  sought  other  amuse- 
ments. He  bought  a  white  canoe  and  left  it  in 
the  orchard  until  he  was  ready  to  launch  it  in 
the  river  below.  One  day  in  looking  it  over, 
he  found  a  leak  in  it  and  left  it  there,  discour- 
aged with  his  undertakings.  How  the  roses 
bloomed  above  it!  How  the  tall  grass  grew 
around  it! 

Bye-and-bye  an  old  hen  thought  it  safely 
moored  and  strutted  in  under  it,  leaving  a 
beautiful  nest  of  eggs.  Anna  had  been  wonder- 
ing where  the  black  hen  had  stolen  her  nest. 
One  baking  day  she  needed  one  more  ^gg  and 
went  to  the  lady  in  the  other  side  of  the  house 
to  borrow  one.    She  met  her  coming  to  borrow 


34  Lights  Along  the  Track 

one  from  her.  She,  too,  was  in  the  same  pre- 
dicament. She  had  gotten  the  ingredients  to- 
gether in  the  larg€  yellow  bowl  and  was  minus 
an  egg.  So  they  sat  down  on  the  doorsteps, 
laughing  merrily.  They  decided  to  wait  for 
the  hens  to  lay. 

Suddenly  from  under  the  canoe  came  the 
welcome  sound,  *'cut-cut-caw-cut,"  and  'twas 
hard  to  tell  which  won  the  race  to  get  there 
first,  but  they  found  a  dozen  eggs.  The  old 
black  hen  cackled  all  the  louder  to  think  she 
had  laid  her  last  egg  without  being  disturbed. 
Anna  and  Jennie  ran  like  school  girls  back  to 
the  cake  board,  declaring  the  eggs  were  made 
to  order. 

It  was  an  ancient  cottage,  embowered  in  an 
amaranth  of  roses  and  vines,  and  Anna  appre- 
ciated these  beautiful  flowers,  the  ''robin's 
sweet  refrain,"  the  sunny  days  and  the  kind 
hearts  of  her  cottage  home.  She  went  each 
morning  to  cut  roses  for  the  sick,  church  or 
home.  She  didn't  look  like  the  pale  person 
that  came  in  the  fall.  A  well-tanned  face 
peeped  from  under  ''an  old  straw  hat,  with  a 
great  broad  rim,"  and  she  said  to  herself,  "I  am 


Vacation  and  Vocation  35 

ever  so  glad  I  came  into  the  country.  It  is 
doing  me  great  good!     I  am  very  happy!" 

Just  then  her  soHloquy  was  interrupted  by  a 
messenger  boy  who  passed  her  a  yellow  slip  of 
paper  which  read:  ''G.  J.  Frost — You  will  be 
changed  to  the  Norton  run,  beginning  work 
Saturday.  Orders  to  move  before  that  time." 
The  telegram  fell  from  her  trembling  hand  to 
the  ground  beside  her  basket  of  clipped  roses. 
That  message  was  for  Mr.  Frost,  but  it  seemed 
to  voice  different  words  to  her.  Another  trans- 
formation scene  on  a  larger  scale  than  Buster's 
dog  house  was  paramount  in  her  mind.  The 
time  had  come  to  put  forth  her  sterling  nature, 
to  smooth  the  rough  edges  of  this  trying  ordeal 
into  which  they  were  about  to  enter.  She 
thought,  'T  have  put  my  shoulder  to  the  wheel, 
and  I  shall  not  turn  back." 

A  strong  man  would  be  disheartened  when 
he  reads  the  message  to  leave  his  home  where 
he  has  lived  so  many,  many  years.  It  must  be 
her  woman's  heart,  well  schooled  in  life's  bat- 
tles, equipped  with  the  helmet  of  Faith  and 
Courage  to  Hghten  the  burden,  every  step  of 
the  way. 

She  gave  him  the  telegram  at  noon,  saying, 


36  Lights  Along  the  Track 

"Many  hands  make  light  work.  We  can  all 
lend  a  hand  and  we  shall  get  along  very  nicely." 
He  didn't  speak.  He  was  so  filled  with  grief. 
She  left  him  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts  and 
soon  began  packing.  It  seemed  to  be  con- 
tagious, for  soon  they  were  all  as  busy  as  bees. 
Ere  long  the  great,  high  load  was  completed. 
John  and  Russel  begged  permission  to  ride  on 
the  load  to  see  the  country.  Mr.  Frost  and 
Miss  Weston  went  by  train  to  have  the  house 
secured  open  when  the  load  should  arrive. 
They  seated  themselves  on  the  lawn  to  see  if 
they  were  in  sight,  but  they  were  invisible.  A 
tempest  was  rapidly  rising  over  the  sea. 

The  air  was  stained  with  black: 

Night  had  come  early  on  the  storm  cloud's  back. 

Finally  the  storm  compelled  them  to  go  in- 
doors. There  wasn't  a  chair  to  sit  in  and  they 
were  very  hungry,  but  the  lunch  was  in  the 
load.  Night  had,  in  reality,  thrown  her  mantle 
over  the  little  village  of  Norton.  Mr.  Frost 
paced  up  and  down  the  floor  with  anxious  brow 
and  nervous  step.     He  said: 

''Anna,  do  you  suppose  they  have  lost  their 
way  or  that  Russel  has  fallen  from  the  team? 


Vacation  and  Vocation  37 

The  goods  must  be  ruined — but  never  mind 
that  if  the  boys  are  all  right." 

Just  then  their  fears  were  quelled  as  they 
heard  the  rumble  of  wheels  close  to  the  house. 
As  they  went  out  into  the  yard,  they  found  the 
team  stuck  in  a  ditch,  but  a  kind  neighbor 
loaned  a  team  of  oxen  to  help  out,  and  after  a 
strenuous  effort,  they  were  stationed  at  the 
door  to  begin  unloading. 

'^Midnight  paused  in  the  skies"  when  the  last 
thing  was  indoors.  I  will  draw  a  veil  over  the 
wreckage,  except  on  the  "little  ark,"  as  Anna 
called  a  wooden  box  with  slats  nailed  across  it, 
in  which  was  imprisoned  the  house  cat,  Tim. 
He  was  submerged  in  the  flood,  where  he  re- 
mained until  morning,  when  Mr.  Frost  unfas- 
tened the  prison  bars,  and  out  leaped  poor  old 
Timmy  like  a  wild  cat. 

The  brown  dog  next  door  thought,  'T  think 
I  shall  not  like  that  grizzly-looking  neighbor. 
Guess  I  will  show  him  in  the  beginning  that 
he  must  fear  me."  Whereupon  he  bounded 
across  lots  and  bit  harmless  Timmy.  With 
good  nursing  Timmy  survived.  He  soon  be- 
came acquainted  with  the  highest  limbs  of  a 
pear  tree,  where  he  could  flee  in  time  of  war. 


38  Lights  Along  the  Track 

Anna,  with  patient,  persevering  efforts,  suc- 
ceeding in  getting  the  goods  dry,  at  last  had 
everything  in  order  and  quoted  Will  Carleton's 
words: 

Out  of  the  old  house,  Nancy, 

Moved  up  into  the  new. 
All  of  the  hurry  and  worry, 

Is  just  as  good  as  through. 

The  salt  sea  air  was  invigorating,  and  her 
health  was  improving  every  day.  The  town 
afforded  such  facilities  for  rest.  There  was  no 
ding-dong  of  the  electric  cars  and  quietude 
reigned  supreme.  The  evenings  were  peaceful 
and  serene.  Anna  enjoyed  going  out  every  fine 
evening  to  sit  on  the  stone  wall  commanding 
a  view  of  the  broad  fields  dotted  with  hay 
stacks,  and  above,  the  full  moon  reflecting  its 
beauty  in  the  still  water  below. 

She  would  sit  there  for  hours,  breathing  the 
scent  of  new  mown  clover  that  pervaded  the 
air,  and  drinking  in  the  grandeur  of  the  night. 
One  night  the  man  in  the  moon  said,  'T  often 
wish  I  could  leave  this  sphere  and  visit  the 
slumbering  earth.  This  perpetual  ethereal  ex- 
panse is  wearisome.  I  was  not  here  the  night 
you  came  or  else  you  would  have  seen  the  way 


Vacation  and  Vocation 


39 


much  better."  The  man  in  the  moon  had  not 
materialized.  She  had  only  been  dreaming  and 
awoke  to  find  that  she  was  catching  cold  in  **the 
evening  dews  and  damps."  She  hastened  to 
the  house  and  closed  the  doors  on  her  vision 
of  the  gentleman  of  the  moon  and  the  mourn- 
ful voices  of  the  myriad  crickets.  These  even- 
ings were  followed  by  long  wintry  evenings. 

Mr.  Frost  did  not  get  home  until  nine 
o'clock.  She  and  Russel  used  to  enjoy  literary 
work.  Russel  delighted  in  composing  that 
which  delights  childish  minds  best,  fairyland 
adventures.  When  tired  of  composing,  they 
would  tell  each  other  stories,  sing  simple  bal- 
lads and  draw.  Russel  had  an  inborn  talent  for 
drawing.  He  had  a  large  collection  that  he  was 
saving  for  a  scrap-book,  so  that  when  he  had 
grown  to  manhood  he  could  treasure  them  in 
retrospection. 

Russel  never  tired  of  telling  the  story  of  his 
ride  to  Norton  on  the  load  of  goods. 

When  storm  frights  found  him  at  his  best, 
He  always  hid  his  white  face  on  her  breast. 

Russel  sat  on  the  ottoman  at  her  feet  and 
reiterated  the  story: 


40  Lights  Along  the  Track 

"It's  great  to  tell  now  'tis  all  over,  but  Anna, 
'twas  awful  then,  'way  up  on  that  high  load.  I 
thought  I  was  nearer  the  clouds  than  the  earth, 
and  that  strange  driver  kept  saying,  'Never 
seed  nothin'  nowhere  beat  them  black  clouds. 
Never  see  such  clouds  as  them  be.  We're  goin' 
to  git  it  now,  I  tell  ye.'  Just  then  a  big  bolt  of 
lightning  and  a  peal  of  thunder  went  crashing 
through  the  air  and  he  lost  control  of  the  four 
horses,  and  went  bang  against  a  rail  fence  on 
the  top  of  Norton  Hill. 

''Oh,  didn't  that  load  just  rock!  I  looked 
down,  and  gracious — cliffs,  banks  and  flowing 
water!  I  grew  dizzy  with  fright.  We  just  came 
within  a  hair's  breadth  of  going  over  that  steep 
embankment.  If  we  had,  Anna,  you'd  a  been 
all  alone  in  your  chamber  now,  wouldn't  you?" 

Mr.  Frost,  returning  home,  interrupted  the 
response,  and  after  lunch  the  evening  was  spent 
in  business  writing  for  the  railroad.  Thus  the 
evenings  glided  into  sweet  Springtime  that  was 
proclaimed  by  the  frogs'  annual  jubilee.  The 
grass  was  shooting  forth  its  tender  blades,  the 
trees  were  budding,  birds  flitting  from  spray  to 
spray,  and  everything  seemed  inspired  with  new 
life. ' 


Vacation  and  Vocation  41 

It  was  soul  thrilling  after  the  severe  winter. 
Anna  seemed  resurrected  from  an  anchorite 
into  the  spirit  of  the  newborn  Spring,  made 
better  by  the  burdens,  heartaches  and  responsi- 
bility. All  Nature  was  beginning  anew  and 
she,  too,  wanted  to  be  clothed  in  a  new  and 
better  life,  and  molded  by  the  hand  of  Spring 
into  a  life  of  activity  and  service  for  the  Master. 

Suddenly,  amid  all  these  aspirations  and  reso- 
lutions, when  Nature  was  at  her  gayest,  sad 
news  came  to  Norton.  The  train  was  rounding 
the  curve  at  WilHams'  Crossing,  and  Conductor 
Frost,  in  passing  from  one  car  to  the  next,  was 
thrown  of¥.  When  they  arrived  at  the  next 
station,  they  missed  their  conductor. 

Later,  the  engineer,  quick  of  discernment, 
had  gotten  orders,  put  his  hand  on  the  lever, 
and  317  backed  out  of  the  station.  They  found 
Mr.  Frost  unconscious  and  apparently  seriously 
injured.  He  who  started  the  train  that  morn- 
ing, light-hearted  and  gay,  little  thinking  of  the 
danger  ahead,  now  lay  prostrated  in  the  car 
that  bore  him  to  Norton.  The  doctor  said  the 
muscles  were  strained,  and  that  he  feared  he 
was  injured  internally.  The  terrible  shock  had 
brought    on    nervous    prostration.      Anna    had 


42  Lights  Along  the  Track 

arrangements  completed  to  go  back  to  the  Col- 
lege Settlement.  This  scene  lay  before  her  as 
in  emigrating,  and  she  must  stand  by  her  post. 

Therefore,  she  remained  many  more  weeks. 
He  recovered  in  a  degree,  but  was  advised  to 
go  away  and  to  give  his  nerves  a  rest.  He  went 
to  his  mother's  home  in  Vermont.  He  had  not 
been  there  more  than  a  week  when  he  chanced 
to  meet  an  old  classmate  whom  he  had  favored 
in  boyhood.  He  thought  her  words  were 
weighty  when  she  carelessly  remarked  that  she 
had  never  married. 

An  old  love-light  beamed  in  his  eyes  as  he 
thought  once  more  of  how  "things  work  to- 
gether for  good."  Now,  just  as  vaUant  Anna 
was  to  leave,  he  had  met  a  friend  who  had  never 
forgotten  him  and  he  thought  he  would  be  very 
happy  taking  her  back  with  him,  if  she  would 
wed  him.  The  lady  accepted  his  proposal,  say- 
ing: "My  love  for  the  country  is  inborn,  and 
there  is  not  a  ghost  of  an  idea  but  that  I  shall 
be  contented  in  Norton  with  you  and  yours." 

Anna  had  been  faithful  in  every  time  of  need, 
and  was  delighted  to  leave  them  with  such 
pleasant  environments.  It  was  noticeable  how 
things  shaped  themselves,  and  the  spring  term 


Lois  Lincoln's  flission  45 

opened  just  before  they  returned,  so  Anna  was 
happy  as  she  thought,  "They  are  on  their  wed- 
ding tour, — their  honeymoon,"  and  then  she 
added  to  herself:  "If  they  are  alone  with  the 
boys  they  will  have  a  broader  range  to  talk 
over,  the  bridge  of  years,  etc." 

The  bracing  salt  air  restored  her  health,  and 
it  was  with  thankful  heart  that  she  resumed  her 
vocation  and  became  again  wedded  to  her  art. 
Mr.  Frost  had  met  the  one  who  had  never  tired 
of  his  memory,  and  whom  John  and  Russel 
liked  very  much,  and  we  leave  them  supremely 
blessed,  in  the  "cottage  by  the  sea." 


IV 
LOIS  LINCOLN'S  MISSION 

THERE  was  a  farm  in  the  country  on 
which  stood  a  large,  old-fashioned  farm- 
house, over  which  hung  the  drooping 
branches  of  an  ancient  elm.  In  a  chamber- 
window  sat  a  young  girl  of  great  beauty. 
Hitherto  she  had  lived  a  quiet  life.  She 
had  had  the  advantages   which   large   country 


44  Lights  Along  the  Track 

towns  afford:  the  district  school,  the  village 
academy,  and  good  society.  To-day  was  her 
eighteenth  birthday.  Her  thoughts  ran  in  an 
unwonted  channel.  As  she  mused  it  occurred 
to  her  life  ought  to  be  one  of  greater  useful- 
ness. 

Full  of  these  thoughts,  she  entered  the  din- 
ing-room where  the  faithful  mother  had  been  at 
work  since  early  dawn,  preparing  food  for 
breakfast,  and  numerous  things  that  needed  at- 
tention at  that  early  hour.  She  sat  down,  and 
leaning  on  her  arm,  was  lost  in  reveries.  Her 
father  coming  in,  noticed  her  abstraction,  and 
said,  ''What  is  my  little  daughter  thinking 
about?" 

"I  was  thinking,"  she  answered,  ''if  I  could 
be  a  foreign  missionary,  how  much  good  I 
might  do.  I  have  thought  of  it  constantly  since 
Gracie  Green  sailed  for  India.  She  is  only  a 
few  years  older  than  I.  Of  course  I  should 
have  to  go  away  to  prepare  for  the  position, 
but  I  feel,  if  I  go  about  it  in  earnest,  that  I  can 
prepare  for  the  new  im.portant  duties  on  which 
I  might  enter."  Before  her  father,  in  his  sur- 
prise, could  reply,  her  mother,  who  reached 
conclusions  more  rapidly,  said: 


Lois  Lincoln's  flission  45 

"Lois,  have  home  duties  no  claim  on  you?  I 
have  looked  forward  to  the  time  when,  your 
education  being  finished,  you  could  assist  me  in 
the  duties  of  life,  which  begin  to  press  heavily 
upon  me.  We  are  growing  old  while  you  are 
young,  and  might  be  such  a  comfort  in  our  de- 
clining years.  Many  have  no  home  ties  to  bind 
them  or  have  brothers  and  sisters  to  remain  to 
comfort  their  parents  as  cares  and  burdens 
break  them  down  so  that  they  need  to  lean 
on  the  arm  of  a  dear  child.  Oh,  Lois,  in  your 
zeal,  don't  forget  that  you  have  a  mission  at 
home." 

Her  father  then  spoke,  saying: 

"I  think  your  mother  is  right.  Home  duties 
should  not  be  set  aside.  Take  time  for  reflec- 
tion. I  think  your  heart  will  tell  you  not  to 
forsake  your  parents  who  have  so  cheerfully 
toiled  for  you  all  through  your  life,  and  I  think 
God  will  bless  you  in  your  'Home  mission'  with 
as  great  blessings  as  anyone  can  find  in  leaving 
home  and  country  for  labor  in  foreign  lands. 
Duty  is  duty.  The  question  for  you  to  decide, 
my  child,  is  what  is  duty.  God  blesses  every 
one  in  the  conscientious  performance  of  duty, 
be  it  what  it  may." 


46  Lights  Along  the  Track 

Lois  awoke  next  morning  with  a  prayerful 
desire  to  be  directed  aright.  Never  before  had 
she  reaHzed  as  at  this  moment  how  much  more 
she  could  do  to  lighten  her  parents'  burdens. 
She  seemed  to  see  at  once  with  clearer  vision 
how  her  mother  had  sacrificed  her  own  ease 
and  comfort  that  she  might  have  privileges  and 
education.  Would  it  be  duty?  Would  God 
desire  ''robbery  for  burnt  offering?"  And  from 
that  time  she  resolved  to  stay  at  home  and 
make  her  parents  happy.  A  week  had  passed, 
and  she  went  down  the  long,  green  lane  swing- 
ing a  milking-pail  in  either  hand,  and  singing: 

Home,  thy  joys  are  passing  lovely — 
Joys  no  stranger  hearts  can  tell. 

Suddenly  she  paused,  for  lying  on  the  ledge 
was  a  stranger.  She  looked  long  and  earnestly, 
and  was  at  first  afraid  to  go  on,  but  seeing  that 
he  was  in  a  weak  and  exhausted  condition,  she 
went  toward  him  and  asked: 

"Are  you  ill?" 

"Oh,  miss,  I  am  very  sick.  Cannot  you 
assist  me?" 

She  assured  him  that  she  would  do  all  that 
she  possibly  could,  and  hastened  home.     Mr. 


Lois  Lincoln's  flission  47 

Lincoln  and  his  workmen,  after  hearing  Lois' 
story,  went  with  her,  but  on  reaching  the 
stranger,  found  him  in  an  unconscious  state. 
They  bore  him  to  the  Lincoln  cottage,  and  laid 
him  tenderly  on  the  bed.  The  doctor  was  sum- 
moned, and,  after  giving  directions  about  his 
medicine,  said: 

*'He  now  needs  rest  for  a  time,"  and  de- 
parted. Lois  and  her  mother  did  all  they  could 
to  quiet  him,  but  he  would  toss  and  turn,  mur- 
muring, "Oh,  Phil,  had  I  known — had  I 
known!" — but  at  last  he  slept. 

Lois  awakened  early,  and  going  to  the  win- 
dow, raised  it  and  gazed  on  the  landscape.  It 
was  a  glorious  summer  morning.  The  birds 
were  singing — the  air  was  laden  with  the  per- 
fume of  the  blossoms,  and  everything  was  ex- 
hilarating. Suddenly  a  recollection  of  the  sick 
stranger  dawned  upon  her,  and  she  hastened 
down.  She  gathered  roses,  rich  with  dew,  and 
went  into  the  sitting-room.  She  was  filling  the 
vases  with  bright,  red  roses,  when  the  stranger 
stirred,  and  Lois  said:  'T  am  sorry  to  have 
disturbed  you.  How  do  you  feel  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"You  did  not  disturb  me.    I  was  awake  when 


48  Lights  Along  the  Track 

you  came  in  with  those  flowers.  I  was  re- 
minded of  my  own  home  in  the  country,  where 
the  robins  sang  and  flowers  profusely  bloomed; 
where  nature  sent  up  songs  of  rejoicing  from 
mountain-top  and  valley;  when  I'd  a  happy 
home,  fond  parents — "  Here  he  said:  ''Sit 
down,  Miss,  while  I  relate  to  you  a  little  of  my 
history." 

"Won't  it  tire  you?"  questioned  Lois. 

''No,  I  feel  fully  equal  to  it,"  and  the  stranger 
began:  "Once  I  was  happy — enjoyed  good 
health,  had  a  kind  father  and  mother,  and — a 
twin  brother."  Here  he  shuddered,  as  if  started 
on  a  train  of  thought  of  some  sad  chapter  in 
his  life,  but  he  went  on:  "We  were  only  twenty 
when  our  parents  died  and  left  us  alone,  but. 
Miss,  there  was  something  worse  than  death 
came  then.  Phil  and  I,  who  had  always  played 
together,  thinking  alike  in  everything,  quar- 
reled over  the  division  of  the  property.  We 
had  hard,  cruel  words,  and  parted  in  anger. 

"He  went  in  one  direction  and  I  in  another. 
In  my  calm  moments,  on  thinking  it  over,  I 
saw  too  plainly  that  I  was  the  most  to  blame. 
It  was  too  much  for  me.  I  was  taken  down 
with  a  fever — was  with  strangers,  and  knowing 


Lois  Lincoln's  flission 


49 


that  I  must  go  to  work.  It  was  too  soon,  for 
I  began  losing  strength,  and  feeling  I  could  die 
happy  if  I  could  only  see  my  brother  and  know 
I  was  forgiven,  I  journeyed  this  way,  hoping  to 
find  some  traces  of  him.  I  had  got  as  far  as  I 
could  when  you  found  me.  Phil  used  to  say 
when  we  were  boys  that  a  fellow  might  do  well 
in  Ohio.  If  I  could  only  ask  his  forgiveness 
and  know  I  was  forgiven,  I  could  die  happy," 
he  reiterated. 

Lois  felt  he  must  not  talk  any  more  then,  and 
closing  the  shutters,  told  him  that  they  would 
endeavor  to  find  his  brother.  Asking  his  and 
his  brother's  full  name,  she  left  the  room. 

She  went  directly  to  the  kitchen  and  told  her 
mother  about  it.    Her  mother  said: 

"Lois,  send  an  advertisement  to  the  Ohio 
and  other  papers  as  quickly  as  possible." 

So  Lois  went  to  her  room  and  wrote  as  fol- 
lows: "Wanted — That  Phil  Raymond  should 
come  to  Barbal  Creek  as  soon  as  possible,  as 
his  brother,  Cecil  Ra3^mond,  is  dying  at  said 
place."  Giving  her  father's  address,  she  sealed 
it,  and  sent  it  to  the  post-ofHce,  returned  to 
the  kitchen  and  assisted  her  mother  until  after- 
noon. 


50  Lights  Along  the  Track 

After  dinner  she  went  again  to  the  sick- 
room. 

"Lois,  what  a  good  name.  May  I  call  you 
so?"  asked  Cecil  Raymond. 

'*Yes,  you  may,"  answered  the  girl. 

''Well,  Lois,  won't  you  sing  something  for 
me?  You  know  you  were  singing  when  I  first 
saw  you." 

''With  pleasure,"  assented  Lois,  and  opening 
the  organ,  she  sang  in  her  low,  sweet  voice: 

When  we  turn  aside  from  duty, 
Comes  the  pain  of  doing  wrong; 

And  a  shadow  creeping  o'er  us 
Checks  the  rapture  of  our  song. 

Always  cheerful,  always  cheerful, 

Sunshine  all  around  we  see, 
Full  of  beauty  is  the  path  of  duty, 

Cheerful  we  should  always  be. 

«  •  •  •  • 

It  was  now  the  first  of  September,  and  Cecil 
Raymond  was  nearing  the  end.  He  seemed  to 
be  trying  to  keep  up  his  strength,  hoping  yet 
that  Phil  might  come.  To-day  he  was  worse. 
Lois  was  sitting  near  his  bedside.  She  was 
pale  and  wan,  after  weeks  of  watching,  but  she 
murmured    not.      The    door   opened    and    her 


Lois  Lincoln's  flission  51 

father  entered,  and  with  him  a  stranger,  whom 
Lois  recognized  at  once  as  Cecil's  brother,  only 
that  he  was  the  picture  of  health.  He  seemed 
to  notice  nothing  about  him,  but  threw  himself 
on  the  bedside  beside  his  brother.  Cecil  opened 
his  eyes  and  said: 

''Oh,  Phil — you  have  come,  and  my  prayer 
is  answered.     Have  you  forgiven  me?" 

"Oh,  Cecil,  there  is  nothing  to  forgive.  I 
love  you." 

"But,  Phil,  don't  you  hear  the  music?  Hush, 
'tis  mother's  voice.  'Tis  all  bright,  now — 
home,  sweet  home."  And  Cecil  Raymond  was 
no  more.  Phil  Raymond  bowed  himself  in 
agony. 

A  week  had  passed,  and  Lois  was  lying  on 
her  bed,  fully  exhausted.  The  patient  child  was 
entirely  worn  out.  It  was  three  weeks  before 
she  could  leave  her  room.  Then  Phil  Ray- 
mond thanked  her  for  her  kindness  toward  his 
brother,  and  said: 

"Lois,  I  have  a  greater  favor  to  ask.  Will 
you  give  me  your  heart  and  hand?"  It  was 
granted.  Lois  Lincoln  had  found  her  "mission" 
at  home. 


52  Lights  Along  the  Track 


V 

MY  CHILDHOOD. 

WHEN  I  was  a  little  girl  I  had  no  young 
playmates,  so  I  talked  to  myself  a 
great  deal.  I  dearly  loved  my  little 
white  dog,  Rex.  I  liked  to  take  him  to  walk 
through  the  fields,  and  see  him  roll  and  toss  in 
the  burdock  burrs,  getting  bunches  of  them 
over  his  silky  coat.  He  made  us  laugh  over 
his  ludicrous  appearance.  Away  in  that  ob- 
scure hamlet  I  was  contented  with  my  books, 
dog  and  dolls.  I  was  delighted  when  mother 
told  me  that  the  neighbor  near  by  had  married 
a  lady  with  a  little  girl  just  my  age.  She  hoped 
I  would  be  happier  with  a  little  girl  neighbor. 
We  were  soon  acquainted  and  began  play- 
days  by  erecting  a  play-house  in  the  lane,  con- 
structed of  two  bricks,  then  a  board,  and  thus 
until  there  were  five  shelves.  We  gleaned 
back  yards  for  bits  of  broken  crockery  and  for 
dishes  to  fill  our  cupboards.  Those  bits  of 
broken   glass   and   fragments   of   old-fashioned 


My  Childhood  53 

ware  were  as  attractive  to  us  then  as  beautiful 
paintings  are  to-day.  Mother  Earth  was  our 
table,  brown  paper  the  tablecloth,  and  rag 
dolls  were  our  guests.  Thus,  gypsyed,  we  sat 
at  our  make-believe  meals. 

On  the  other  side  were  our  gardens,  made  in 
small  mounds,  bordered  with  strips  of  green 
sod.  We  gathered  wildwood  flowers  and  half 
buried  them  in  the  earth.  We  imagined  how 
the  people  would  gaze  and  wonder  how  our 
garden  grew  so  marvelously.  They  remained 
fresh  a  long  time,  as  we  sprinkled  them  so  often 
with  an  old  flour-dredger.  We  became  so  fond 
of  play  that  our  parents  became  exercised  lest 
we  would  grow  up  unacquainted  with  work,  so 
working  hours  were  set  apart  each  day. 

We  were  taught  to  knit,  crochet,  darn  neatly, 
and  sew.  One  day,  tired  of  work,  we  went 
without  permission  to  Clark's  Hollow  to  gather 
cat-o'-nine-tails  for  decorative  purposes. 
When  we  arrived,  we  saw  a  horse  drinking  at 
the  brook.  Fearing  he  would  crush  our  cov- 
eted cat-tails,  I  cautiously  stepped  from  stone 
to  stone  and  waved  my  stick,  saying: 

"Go  home,  old  horse,"  whereupon  my  foot 
slipped,  and  I  fell  in.    Splash — splash!    I  ruined 


54  Lights  Along  the  Track 

my  blue  Thibet  dress.  Mother  said  it  was  a 
punishment  for  disobedience. 

On  rainy  days  we  explored  the  attic.  If  we 
did  not  fully  appreciate  the  ''patter  on  the  roof," 
then  we  can  pause  to-day  and  listen  to  hear  the 
lulling  sounds  which  rest  the  weary  souls  of 
humanity.  We  made  bead  rings  of  various 
hues,  told  stories,  and  looked  forward  in  antici- 
pation to  the  years  when  we  would  be  ''grown 
up"  women.  In  fact,  we  opened  old  trunks  and 
chests,  and  dressed  up  in  silks  and  olden  day 
poke-bonnets,  and  played  that  we  were  "big 
folks." 

When  weary  of  attic  sport,  we  sought  the 
sitting-room,  and  begged  my  mother  for  a 
poem.  We  loved  her  original  lays  far  better 
than  fairy-tales  or  Mother  Goose  melodies. 
She  wrote  these  lines: 

Two  little  friends  with  dark  brown  hair, 
Going  hand  in  hand  everywhere; 
Enjoying  each  moment  as  it  flies, 
Mirthfulness  sparkling  in  their  eyes. 

Kind  in  their  sports,  and  never  rough, 

At   "Puss-in-the-Corner"   or   "Blind   Man's   Buflf." 

Happy  in  going  their  friends  to  see, 

Having  nice  times  as  ever  might  be. 


My  Childhood  55 

Trudging  to  the  woods  to  get  things  for  baby, 
VVho,  by  the  way,  is  a  nice  little  lady, 
Clapping  her  hands  in  pure  delight, 
Soon  as  their  faces  appear  in  sight. 

Having  each  a  kitty,  and  a  dog 
Who  trots  after  them  at  a  good,  smart  jog; 
With  a  kind  papa,  and  a  dear  mama, 
Ready  to  please  them  wherever  they  are. 

What  can  be  wanting  each  little  maid? 
Naught  to  harm  them  or  make  them  afraid; 
Everyone  ready  to  help  them  quick. 
And  a  dear  Saviour  to  pray  to  when  sick. 

Then  another  day  she  wrote  these  lines  on 
our  school-days: 

Mary,  Annie  and  Isabelle, 

A  happy  trio  band; 
Love  each  other,  oh,  so  well, 

And  by  each  other  stand. 

Go  on,  brave  little  band, 

Happy  still  as  ever. 
Wandering  hand  in  hand. 

In  pleasant  autumn  weather. 

In  the  pastures  bright  and  green. 
And  the  woodlands,  so  sweet, 


56  Lights  Along  the  Track 

Where    little    squirrels    glean 
Food,  which  tiny  babies  eat. 

Oh,  the  happy  little  creatures, 

How  they  run,  chirp  and  play! 
Joy  beaming  in  their  wee  features, 

Here  we'd  like  with  them  to  stay. 

Here  where  the  bright  fox-berries  shine, 
Where  the  pine  cones  lay  around, 

Where  trails  the  arbutus  vine 
And  box  berry  over  the  ground. 

The  wind  in  the  pines  sings  sweet. 

In  cadence  soft  and  low. 
The  rabbits  with  flying  feet. 

Through  the  lonely  wood-paths  go. 

Let  us  gather  nuts  and  acorns, 

Then  homeward  wend  our  way. 
Weaving  garlands  of  asters  blue, 

And  immortelles  so  gay. 

Little  geologists  are  we. 

Many   a   toumarline   we    find. 
While  garnets  sparkling  like  the  sea 

We  will,  too,  in  our  chaplets  bind. 

Farewell,  my  schoolmates  dear. 
May  our  pleasures  last  evermore; 


riy   Childhood  57 

When  childhood  shall  disappear, 
May  youth  come  brimming  o'er. 

With  friendship  strong  and  sweet 

May   ours   remain  unbroken, 
Time  will  go  on  pinions  fleet, 

But  gives  you  this  loving  token. 

I  was  made  sad,  suddenly,  when  I  learned 
that  my  playmate's  parents  were  to  move  to 
the  city.  Mother  said  I  must  help  her;  that 
work  was  a  panacea  for  loneliness,  so  I  began 
by  waiting  on  Aunt  Emma,  who  was  ill. 

First  I  carried  her  a  lunch  on  a  tray;  she 
asked  me  to  read  to  her  for  a  while,  and  said 
she  would  write  me  a  little  poem  for  my  collec- 
tion of  poem  melodies.  I  was  made  happy  by 
these  lines  a  short  time  afterwards: 

As  I  lie  upon  the  sofa, 

Looking  into  the  fire; 
Thinking  how  my  face  does  ache, 

And  what  will  next  transpire. 

Thinking  of  the  drifting  storm, 

And    wondering   whether 
The  wind  will  get  into  the  West, 

And  bring  us  pleasant  weather. 

Lo,  a  sudden  change  appears, 
I  look  to  see  what  it  means. 


58  Lights  Along  the  Track 

While,  on  my  pillow  and  my  face 
The  cheerful  sunshine  streams. 

Then  I  hear  the  patter  of  little  feet, 

Coming  along  the  hall, 
With  a  tray  of  goodies  for  my  tea 

And  pleasant  smile  for  all. 

And  this  thought  comes  to  my  mind, 

How  can  I  lonely  be. 
While  all  so  kind  and  cheerful  are 

And  glad  to  wait  on  me? 

Thus  I  became  a  constant  helper  in  the 
household,  and  was  satisfied  with  weekly  let- 
ters from  my  childhood  friend.  Soon  after  her 
departure  a  family  moved  in  the  old  home  who 
had  diphtheria,  from  which  all  died.  A  young 
man  returning  from  singing-school  saw  some 
apparition,  and  fancied  he  heard  uncanny 
sounds  in  the  old  house.  So,  every  one  shud- 
dered to  pass  it,  and  it  was  generally  termed 
the  haunted  house. 

One  of  my  schoolmates  suggested  that  if  I 
would  dare  venture  in  at  the  window  and  open 
the  door,  they  would  enter  too.  I  was  very 
brave,  as  I  did  not  believe  in  ghosts.  And  yet, 
I  confess  that  I  felt  creepy,  as  I  lifted  the  win- 


My  Childhood  59 

dow  and  looked  in  through  the  musty  rooms, 
thickly  veiled  with  cobwebs.  However,  I 
passed  in  and  soon  lifted  the  rusty  latch  and 
let  in  some  very  pale  and  trembling  girls.  We 
clambered  up  the  old  time-worn  staircase,  and 
were  soon  enjoying  the  dusty  spinning  wheels, 
flax  wheels  and  red  cradle,  when  we  heard  a 
groan  from  the  rooms  below.  We  exchanged 
terror-stricken  glances,  and  then  sped  two  steps 
at  a  time  down  the  rickety  stairs,  passing  a 
burly  tramp  stretched  upon  the  floor,  ragged 
and  dirty. 

Doubtless  he  had  sought  shelter  for  the 
night,  having  entered  by  the  back  way,  and  our 
chattering  upstairs  had  wakened  him.  We  hur- 
ried down  the  lane,  "more  afraid  of  the  living 
than  the  dead."  The  old  house  has  crumbled 
to  decay,  and  naught  is  left  but  the  cellar  and 
the  lilac  tree. 

In  early  womanhood,  I,  too,  went  to  the  city 
to  live.  Again  I  was  a  neighbor  to  my  child- 
hood friend.  Instead  of  the  cupboard  and  rag 
dolls  in  the  country  lane,  she  has  a  magnifi- 
cent home.  Instead  of  rag-babies,  she  has 
beautiful  golden-haired  children  to  grace  it, 
happy  in  the  luxuries  of  modern  days. 


6o  Lights  Along  the  Track 

I  would  not  exchange  the  memories  of  the 
attic,  the  school  days  in  the  commonplace  ham- 
let, and  my  mother's  lay,  for  all  the  modern 
amusements  that  wealth  can  buy.  Her  chil- 
dren are  clustering  about  my  knee,  begging  me 
for  a  little  poem,  such  as  mother  made  for  me 
when  I  was  a  little  child.  I  cannot  refuse  them 
that  which  delighted  my  childish  mind  so  much. 

As  I  look  back  along  the  years, 

I  see  two  small,  childish  faces. 
Without  a  thought  of  guile  or  fears. 

Teeming  with  childhood's  graces. 

I  see  them  in  the  orchard  green, 

Building  a  playhouse  high, 
Or  on  the  rocks  they  were  seen, 

In  fields  of  gently  moving  rye. 

Oft  in  the  woodlands  they  did  roam, 
Gathering  nuts  or  leaves  so  bright. 

To  carry  to  a  cheerful  home, 

The  nuts  to  crack  some  wintry  night. 

But  alas  those  two  were  parted, 
In  the  midst  of  their  happy  play. 

'Twas  then  the  teadrops  started, 
As  they  went  their  separate  way. 


riy  Childhood  6i 

Many  years  like  a  bridge  dividing, 
Have  ever  kept  friend  from  friend; 

But  God  in  his  own  way  providing, 
Brings  them  across  to  the  end. 

There  you  may  see  them  meeting, 
With  clasped  hands,  face  to  face — 

Recalling  the  years,  so  fleeting. 
Trying  their  girlish   ways  to  trace. 

But  they  were  vanished  from  view. 
Lost  in  the  cares  of  women  grown, 

Yet  down  in  the  heart  they  grew, 
Although  their  childhood  had  flown. 

It  gave  them  very  much  joy, 
Each  other's  loved  ones  to  greet. 

One  with  a  baby  girl  and  boy. 
Prattling  there  at  her  feet. 

They  had  learned  the  cross  to  bear — 
Each  received  the  baptismal  rite; 

Finding  how  sweet  is  the  "hour  of  prayer," 
At  morning,  noon  and  night. 

May  they  walk  the  way  so  carefully. 
That  their  own  may  see  the  way. 

And  learn  to  live  more  prayerfully, 
In  the  light  of  their  lamps'  bright  ray. 

May  they  meet  again  when  life  is  o'er, 
Beyond  that  bridge  that  spans 


62  Lights  Along  the  Track 

This  and  the  bright  golden  shore, — 
Safe  in  God's  redeeming  hands. 


VI 

REUNITED 

MARGARET  WILDE  stood  at  an  iron 
sink  in  a  restaurant  kitchen  with  a 
heavy  heart.  She  had  always  disliked 
what  she  termed  an  "any  how  sink."  It  would 
be  difficult  to  wash  the  plates,  cups  and  saucers 
methodically,  for  the  table-girls  had  hustled 
trays  of  all  shapes  of  dishes,  whole  and  broken 
together,  into  the  kitchen.  She  was  there  to 
wash  them,  so  began  murmuring  in  an  under- 
tone: 

'"Have  I  come  to  this?" 

She  was  a  lady  born  and  bred  in  the  old 
school.  She  lived  with  her  family,  at  one  time, 
in  England.  It  was  a  very  sad  day,  when 
perusing  the  evening  paper,  she  found  her  hus- 
band's name  in  the  death  list  of  those  killed  in 
a  horrible  railroad  accident.  She  had  a  son  ill 
with  consumption,  and  baby  Alice,  six  years  of 
age.     She  had  closed  her  eyes  in  silent  prayer 


Reunited  63 

before  performing  the  heart-rending  mission  of 
telling  the  terrible  news  to  her  children. 

The  wreckage  did  not  give  up  its  dead,  so  the 
wife  and  little  daughter  gazed  sadly  at  the 
debris,  passed  through  a  funeral  service  of 
strange  form,  and  returned  to  their  desolate 
home.  How  utterly  lonely  they  were  that  night, 
waiting  and  watching  the  only  son  and  brother, 
so  soon  to  join  the  father  who  had  just  stepped 
from  the  fireside.  Only  a  few  nights  of  tender 
nursing  and  he  was  taken  to  that  better 
country. 

Thus  it  was  that  Margaret  Wilde,  of  high 
birth  and  from  a  comfortable  home,  was  de- 
pendent upon  her  own  resources.  She  learned 
that  she  would  probably  be  the  recipient  of 
money  from  the  railroad  company  in  time,  in 
settlement  for  the  loss  of  her  husband's  life, 
but  she  thought  she  would  not  wait  for  that, 
and  quickly  decided  to  go  to  America. 

She  packed  essential  articles  for  home  com- 
fort, and  with  little  Alice,  crossed  the  great 
expanse  of  ocean.  She  was  sanguine  to  earn 
a  livelihood  by  keeping  boarders,  and  if  any 
money  ever  came  to  her,  from  the  railroad  com- 
pany, she  would  put  it  in  the  bank  at  interest 


64  Lights  Along  the  Track 

for  her  only  child.  She  made  an  excellent  liv- 
ing for  many  years  until  Alice  had  budded  into 
womanhood  and  married  a  worthy  husband. 
They  freely  ofifered  her  a  home  with  them,  but 
she  replied: 

"I  would  rather  live  independently,  and  visit 
you  often." 

There  were  many  kinds  of  employment  that 
she  was  adapted  to,  but  age,  lameness  and  deaf- 
ness were  all  against  her  labor-loving  hands. 
Therefore,  to-night,  despite  her  proud  ambi- 
tions, there  was  naught  else  she  could  do  very 
well,  so  she  faced  the  **any  how  sink"  in  a  large, 
unhomelike  kitchen. 

Yes,  to-night  she  had  come  to  this  humble 
work;  yet  she  enjoyed  nursing  independence. 
As  she  entered  her  casement  room,  and  lighted 
her  fire,  she  said: 

"Yes,  I  am  satisfied  with  this  little  home." 
The  lamp  shed  its  rays  over  the  room,  showing 
her  well  read  Bible,  open  upon  the  table,  the 
log  cabin  quilt  upon  the  bed,  and  in  its  flicker- 
ing rays  were  seen  the  pictures  of  James  and 
Alice  upon  the  wall. 

As  the  fagots  snapped  and  crackled,  she 
watched  the  old  English  scenes  in  the  leaping 


Reunited  65 

blaze.  Suddenly  she  started  from  her  rocking- 
chair,  exclaiming: 

"I  know  it  is  he!    I  know  it  is  he!" 

Margaret  did  not  sleep  that  night.  She  went 
to  work  earlier  than  usual,  so  eager  was  she  to 
prove  that  she  was  not  deceived.  She  felt  as- 
sured that  the  manager  of  the  cafe  was  her 
husband — that  he  was  living.  She  looked  at 
him  so  searchingly  that  he  inquired: 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you  this  morning, 
Margaret?" 

''Yes,  please,"  Margaret  replied;  ''pardon  me 
— but  have  you  a  daughter  Alice?" 

That  name,  so  precious  in  his  memory, 
aroused  his  suspicions,  together  with  an  old, 
familiar  voice,  as  he  replied: 

"Yes,  many  years  ago." 

By  way  of  exclamation  in  answer  to  her  next 
question,  he  said:  "Many  years  ago  I  went 
away  from  home  on  business,  to  be  gone  an 
indefinite  time.  When  I  returned,  I  found  that 
my  son  had  died,  and  my  wife  and  daughter 
gone  to  America.  They  believed  that  I  had 
been  killed  in  a  great  railroad  disaster  that  oc- 
curred the  same  day  I  started.  It  was  very 
strange  that  my  name  and  address  should  be 


66  Lights  Along  the  Track 

given,  yet  I  had,  most  fortunately,  gone  by  the 
early  express.  Learning  that  my  family  was  in 
this  country,  I  came  here,  hoping  to  hear  from 
them  some  time.  Margaret,  beneath  time's 
rough  hand,  I  see  a  resemblance  to  my  wife  in 
you.  Speak  quickly,  and  tell  me,  am  I  to  see 
my  lost  ones  again?" 

Then  she  told  him  all.  That  night,  Easter 
eve,  after  twenty-five  years,  father  and  daughter 
were  introduced  under  the  roof  of  Margaret's 
humble  apartments.  He  advised  her  to  remove 
to  a  more  convenient  suite,  which  he  furnished 
beautifully.  Mrs.  Wilde  appreciates  her  true 
home,  also  those  days  in  the  modest  home,  and 
in  the  restaurant  kitchen,  for  she  considers  that 
they  were  the  hinges  of  the  doors  of  fatality 
that  opened  at  Eastertide  for  this  sweet 
reunion. 


A  Glad  Surprise  67 


VII 

A  GLAD  SURPRISE 

Over  the  hills  to  the  poorhouse, 
I  am  trudging  my  weary  way, 

I,  a  woman  of  seventy, 
And  only  a  trifle  grey. 

THESE  words  from  Carleton  were  ringing 
in  Rachel  Gregory's  mind  as  she  was 
returning  from  a  call  upon  an  old  lady 
that  she  dearly  loved.  She  was  seventy-one 
years  old,  and  lived  in  an  attic  room  of  a  tene- 
ment house.  Rachel  Gregory  had  been  her 
friend  for  many  years,  and  to-day  she  had  un- 
folded a  few  pages  of  her  Hfe  to  Rachel,  offer- 
ing to  sell  her  an  old-fashioned  Italian  breast- 
pin for  the  paltry  sum  of  five  dollars,  in  order 
to  raise  necessary  funds. 

Rachel  was  grieved  to  learn  that  the  only 
prospect  the  old  lady  had  in  sight  was  the  poor- 
house.  She  did  not  need  the  pin,  and  it  seemed 
like  robbery  to  take  it  at  that  low  price.  She 
had  begun  to  save  her  money  toward  buying  a 


68  Lights  Along  the  Track 

piano,  yet  if  this  would  comfort  the  old  lady, 
she  would  sacrifice  the  piano  and  buy  the  pin. 

So  she  bought  it,  but  that  night  she  could 
not  sleep,  for  she  kept  thinking  of  the  poor 
old  woman  and  the  pain  it  must  have  cost  her 
tO'  part  with  the  valuable  jewel  which,  without 
a  doubt,  had  tender  associations  connected 
with  it.  As  plan  after  plan  revolved  in  her 
mind,  a  bright  idea  came  as  if  borne  on  unseen 
wings. 

Why  not  take  the  pin  to  a  jeweler  in  the 
city,  and  then,  if  he  gave  a  good  price  for  it, 
she  could  make  her  old  friend  very  happy  by 
giving  her  more  than  her  price.  The  following 
Thursday  she  had  occasion  to  go  to  the  city. 
She  eagerly  put  Aunt  Jane's  brooch  into  her 
small  hand-bag.  She  had  always  called  the  old 
lady  "Aunt  Jane." 

"Mumbling  like  a  prayer,"  was  Rachel,  "I 
do  hope  I  shall  have  success." 

The  jeweler  did  not  care  to  purchase,  but 
courteously  informed  her  that  a  "star  actress," 
who  was  stopping  at  The  Ossipee,  had  been 
there  a  few  days  ago  for  just  the  same  kind  of 
a  pin  as  the  one  Rachel  was  now  showing.  He 
advised  that  if  she  were  anxious  to  dispose  of 


A  QIad  Surprise  69 

it,  that  she  go  there  at  once.  Rachel  thanked 
him,  and  borrowing  his  pencil,  hastily  wrote  on 
a  card:  ''Will  Miss  A.  kindly  interview  the 
bearer  of  an  ItaHan  breast-pin,  with  a  view  to 
purchasing  it?"  Soon  she  was  awaiting  her 
answer  at  the  grand  hotel,  and  later  was  ush- 
ered into  the  beautiful  apartment  of  the  actress. 
Upon  looking  at  the  pin  the  young  woman 
exclaimed: 

''Oh,  that  is  just  what  I've  been  looking  for 
so  long.  How  much  do  you  want  to  take 
for  it?" 

Rachel  timidly  answered:  "I  hardly  know 
its  real  worth.    What  will  you  give  me  for  it?" 

She  turned  it  over  and  over  in  her  hand,  say- 
ing: "It  is  valuable  to  me.  It's  wonderfully 
carved,  and  it  is  old,  too."  Then  she  looked 
askance  at  Rachel,  and  questioned  her  as  to 
why  she  wished  to  part  with  the  pin. 

Rachel  replied  that  it  was  to  save  a  worthy 
old  lady  from  the  poor  farm.  The  pin  had  been 
hers  when  prosperity  had  been  her  lot,  and  now 
adversity  had  compelled  her  to  sell  the  treasure. 
Then  the  stately  actress  crossed  the  room  to 
her  desk,  wiping  a  tear  from  her  eye.     Opening 


*jo  Lights  Along  the  Track 

a  drawer,  she  took  out  her  check-book  and  tak- 
ing up  her  pen,  made  out  a  check  to  Rachel 
Gregory  for  the  sum  of  two  hundred  dollars. 

"Take  this,"  she  said,  ''it  will  help  the  home- 
less, and  I  am  satisfied."  Miss  Gregory  re- 
ceived the  check  in  astonishment.  She  could 
only  utter  a  "thank  you"  very  trembUngly,  and 
retire. 

She  remembered  the  little  white  cottage  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill  that  Aunt  Jane  had  so  often 
wished  were  hers.  The  cash  price  was  two  hun- 
dred dollars.  Why  not  invest  this  in  a  little 
home?  The  next  day  she  bought  the  cottage 
and  the  question  of  furnishing  it  arose.  The 
matter  was  brought  up  before  the  King's 
Daughters  Society  and  they  voted  to  accept  the 
duty  "In  His  Name,"  and  before  many  days 
had  elapsed,  deft  hands  were  making  curtains, 
cushions  and  tidies,  looped  with  rich  purple 
ribbon. 

They  bought  second-hand  furniture  with 
treasury  money.  They  were  mindful  of  many 
things  from  her  room  that  she  could  add  when 
she  became  acquainted  with  this  unexpected 
pleasure.  By  the  first  of  June  the  cottage  was 
ready  for  its  occupant.     Rachel   Gregory  had 


Glimpses  Along  the  Way  71 

the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  dim  eyes  brighten  as 
the  old  lady  exclaimed: 

''Law  sakes,  child,  is  this  little  home  mine?" 
Then  Rachel  related  the  story  of  the  breast- 
pin that  had  brought  to  her  this  ideal  home. 
There  we  will  leave  her  amid  the  bright  holly- 
hocks and  morning-glories,  safely  sheltered 
from  wintry  blasts  until  she  is  called  to  jour- 
ney to  the  many  mansions  prepared  for  those 
who  love  God. 


VIII 

GLIMPSES  ALONG  THE  WAY 

ESTHER  EARLE,  employed  as  saleslady 
in  one  of  the  large  stores  in  Boston,  had 
not  had  her  usual  summer  outing,  as 
there  had  been  no  lull  in  business.  One  day 
she  had  learned  that  she  might  have  a  month's 
vacation  if  she  could  arrange  to  leave  immedi- 
ately. She  hastily  packed  her  trunk  and  de- 
parted for  the  hills  of  Maine.  The  day  dawned 
brightly,  and  as  she  sat  in  an  open  electric  that 
afternoon,   bound   for  the   Union   Station,   she 


72  Lights  Along  the  Track 

congratulated  herself  that  it  had  proven  so 
perfect  a  day.  When  she  alighted  at  the  depot 
she  found  to  her  dismay  that  the  beautiful  day 
had  developed  into  a  dull,  rainy  one;  such  a 
day  as  one  likes  to  spend  indoors,  listening  to 
the  rain's  patter  upon  the  roof  and  watch  out 
through  the  mists  upon  the  dripping  umbrellas 
carried  by  disconsolate  pedestrians.  One  feels 
thankful  to  be  indoors  such  days. 

Esther  thought,  "Dear  me,  four  hours'  ride 
to  Portland,  but  I  will  study  the  characters 
shown  by  the  various  faces,  and  the  time  won't 
seem  so  long,"  Already  the  'lights  of  the  city 
told  that  the  night  was  near  at  hand,"  and  it 
looked  rather  a  dreary  journey;  but  she  had  to 
press  onward.  She  was  soon  nestling  in  a  seat 
near  the  door  of  the  Portland-bound  train. 

The  car  was  crowded  and  Esther  found  many 
types  of  human  nature  to  study  interestedly. 
An  especially  ludicrous  sight  was  a  lady  with 
a  beautiful  kitten  in  a  black  bag.  She  was  very 
prim-looking,  and  peeped  over  her  gold-bowed 
spectacles  at  the  restive  kitty.  She  held  the 
bag  securely  by  two  strings,  drawn  closely 
around  pussy's  neck,  forming  a  Mary  Stuart 
frill,  making  poor  tabby  the  center  of  attrac- 


Qlimpses  Along  the  Way  73 

tion  and  occasioning  much  mirth  among  those 
near  by. 

Weary  of  the  kitten's  plaintiff  cries,  Esther 
noted  that  the  New  Hampshire  line  had  been 
crossed.  The  train  stopped  ten  minutes  for 
refreshments,  and  an  eager  crowd  jostled  in, 
anxious  to  find  seats.  Most  of  them  passed 
Esther,  who  shrank  from  sharing  her  seat  with 
a  stranger,  until  a  stalwart  gentleman  with  a 
deep  voice  said,  ''I  beg  pardon,  is  this  seat  en- 
gaged?" 

Esther  replied  quietly  that  it  was  not.  She 
wished  that  it  were  daylight,  so  that  she  might 
watch  the  panorama  of  scenery,  but  it  was  quite 
dusk.  She  began  nervously  to  peruse  the 
menu  distributed  at  Rockingham  Junction 
when  the  voice  at  her  side  said: 

''Do  you  object  to  converse  with  strangers? 
I  like  to  meet  people  casually  in  journeying, 
as  time  passes  more  rapidly.  If  you've  no 
objections,  I  will  tell  you  about  an  interesting 
trip  I  recently  took. 

"I  have  just  been  to  a  historical  spot — 
Whittier's  birthplace,  and  I  took  my  camera 
with  me  and  was  privileged  to  take  a  picture 
of    the    exterior    and    interior.      To    illustrate 


74  Lights  Along  the  Track 

'Snowbound,'  I  put  'apples  on  the  clean-winged 
hearth  about,'  "  went  on  the  affable  traveler, 
"and  a  basket  of  nuts  from  'brown  October's 
woods,'  hung  my  watch  over  the  fireplace  and 
then  placed  a  'mug  upon  the  hearth'  between 
the  'andirons'  straddling  feet.'  I  procured  a 
very  good  picture." 

Esther  wondered  if  he  had  carried  his  enthu- 
siasm and  esthetic  notions  to  the  extent  of  fill- 
ing the  mug  with  cider.  She  had  studied 
"Snowbound,"  but  she  did  not  enter  into  the 
talkative  stranger's  conversation. 

The  train  was  filled  with  passengers,  and 
many  of  the  men  were  intoxicated,  hence  the 
conductor  had  all  he  could  do  in  collecting 
cash  fares  and  answering  crude  questions. 
Esther  thought  this  too  trivial  a  matter  to 
complain  of  to  him,  so  she  endured  the  poetical 
conversation,  but  remained  reticent.  The  gen- 
tleman continued:  'Tt  is  a  delightful  spot.  The 
memory  I  shall  ever  retain."  Then  noticing  the 
valise  at  her  feet  he  said,  inquisitively: 

"Strange  you  are  taking  your  vacation  late 
this  year.  I  usually  meet  people  coming  back 
this  time  of  year." 


dlimpses  Along  the  Way  75 

Esther  paid  no  attention,  and  he  began 
anew,  "I  have  just  been  to  Lake  Kineo  and 
Ingalls'  Siding  gunning."  Our  little  saleslady 
wished  that  he  were  there  yet. 

Her  inattention  did  not  squelch  him,  however, 
and  he  told  her  that  the  Indian  was  no  happier 
than  he  as  he  lay  listening  to  the  'Voices  of 
the  night"  and  the  "wild  goose's  cry,"  and  in 
the  morning  to  the  quail's  whistle,  "Bob  White 
—Bob  White."  He  told  her  how  he  had 
watched  the  timid  deer  and  its  keenness  in  de- 
tecting the  smothered  campfire  at  a  distance. 
Once  again  waxing  poetical,  he  remarked  that 
a  writer  had  said  that  the  deer's  keenness  was 
from  fear  rather  than  love. 

Esther  was  weary  enough  when  he  launched 
again  into  remembrances  of  the  letters  he  had 
written  his  friends  on  birch  bark,  telling  them 
of  the  "goose  feast,"  and  Miss  Earle  decided 
that  he  had  partaken  considerably  of  the  nature 
of  the  goose,  as  was  plainly  evident  from  his 
conversation.  But  "silence  is  golden,"  and  she 
spoke  not.  At  last,  apparently  awaking  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  monopolized  the  conversation, 
he  said  with  a  start,  "Well,  I  have  digressed. 


76  Lights  Along  the  Track 


I  intended  to  ask  you  which  poet  you  prefer, 
Whittier  or  Longfellow?" 

"I  cannot  say,"  Esther  replied,  "both  are  so 
grand." 

Then  he  repeated  Longfellow's 

Ships  that  pass  in  the  night, 

And  speak  each  other  in  passing. 

Only  a  signal  shown, 

And  a  distant  voice  in  the  darkness. 

So  on  the  ocean  of  life  we  glide, 

And  speak  one  another, 

Only  a  look  and  a  voice — 

Then  darkness  again  and  silence. 

To  Esther's  relief  she  found  the  train  wind- 
ing slowly  into  the  station  at  Portland,  and  this 
peculiar  character  and  herself  had  met  "casu- 
ally," to  use  his  own  word,  and  then  ''darkness 
again  and  silence." 

She  stayed  with  friends  in  the  Forest  City, 
and  in  the  early  morning  took  the  train  for 
Hillsdale,  there  to  connect  with  the  stage  for 
Elm  Village,  five  miles  away.  There  were 
three  passengers  in  the  stage  beside  herself. 
Apparently  they  were  father,  mother  and  little 
daughter.  The  little  one  had  a  tiny  doll  hugged 
tightly  in  her  arms.     They  had  not  gone  far 


Glimpses  Along  the  Way  77 

when  an  outcry  that  Madeline  had  lost  her  hat 
startled  them. 

The  accommodating  driver  descended  to 
rescue  the  lost  head  piece,  and,  thinking  of  a 
large  hat,  unconsciously  trampled  over  Made- 
line's hat.    Then  a  shrill  little  voice  cried  out: 

"Mamma,  mamma,  don't  let  him  step  on  it." 

Then  her  mother  answered,  soothingly, 
"Hush,  dearie,"  and  to  the  driver  said,  "Mr. 
Noble,  it  is  the  doll's  hat;  it  is  just  beside  your 
foot." 

The  hat  was  then  restored  to  its  diminutive 
owner  with  the  words,  "There,  little  girl,  don't 
cry,"  and  the  incident  created  a  general  laugh 
in  the  stage.  The  driver  described  the  route, 
telling  the  time  by  the  trees  and  clumps  of 
bushes  without  consulting  his  time-piece. 
Knowing  the  road  so  well,  he  was  able  to  tell 
the  time  the  stage  should  reach  the  various 
points  without  his  watch.  He  directed  their 
attention  to  the  picnic  grounds,  where  the 
lightning  had  played  havoc  with  some  of  the 
ancient  trees  during  recent  tempests.  From 
time  to  time  he  stopped  to  deliver  mail  at  rural 
delivery  boxes  on  some  of  the  lawns.  Occa- 
sionally he  would  call  at  some  small  homestead 


78  Lights  Along  the  Track 

and  drop  a  mail  bag.  The  little  girl  was  again 
heard  from.  ■  She  asked: 

**Why  did  he  go  in  to  that  lady's  kitchen?" 

The  last  call  was  at  the  village  post-office, 
where  a  crowd  was  eagerly  waiting  to  see  who 
arrived  in  the  stage.  They  were  quite  at  sea 
to  know  who  Esther  was,  but  one  old  man,  with 
his  pipe  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  said:  'T 
kind  o'  think  that  young  gal  hes  come  here  to 
board,  but  I  dunno." 

This  was  the  end  of  the  route,  where  they 
changed  horses,  and  Miss  Earle  was  trans- 
ferred to  the  ''one  hoss  shay,"  and  driven  to 
the  Elm  Hotel,  there  to  rusticate  for  a  month. 
How  delightful  those  days  seemed!  Esther 
found  pleasure  in  taking  walks  without  her 
hat,  village  fashion,  so  hatless  and  with  her 
pale  blue  parasol  as  a  shelter  from  the  midday 
sun,  she  would  seek  out  favorite  haunts  of 
Mother  Nature.  One  day  she  strayed  up  a 
path  leading  to  Mount  Truman.  Along  the 
rough  way  she  walked  until  she  could  see  the 
mountain's  crest,  towering  above  huge  bould- 
ers, and  the  quiet,  peaceful  village  below. 

She  collected  some  specimens  of  quartz, 
then,    seeing    some    beautiful    goldenrod    and 


Glimpses  Along  the  Way  79 

asters  far  below,  she  laid  down  her  specimens 
and  parasol,  devising  a  way  to  reach  the  spot. 
One  particular  thought  seemed  in  her  mind — 
how  they  grew  side  by  side  invariably,  or  in 
the  words  of  the  poet,  "The  purple  aster  was 
the  goldenrod's  bride."  And  again,  ''They 
live  and  love  and  die  together."  She  thought 
of  taking  some  home  to  paint  on  a  panel  of 
broken  background.  How  beautiful  they 
would  look  from  still  life.  What  a  pleasant 
reminder  when  back  in  crowded  Boston. 

She  started  to  turn  back,  but  the  problem 
was,  which  way  had  she  come,  and  what  could 
she  do  without  her  parasol?  Just  then,  coming 
down  the  slope,  she  recognized  the  High 
School  principal,  who  also  boarded  at  the  Elm 
Hotel.  Seeing  her  predicament,  he  offered  to 
shelter  her  with  his  umbrella.  It  was  charac- 
teristic of  him  to  be  prepared  for  the  sudden 
showers  and  miniature  tempests  that  follow 
the  river's  winding  course.  He  had  been  with 
his  botany  class  to  analyze  a  certain  mountain 
plant,  and  getting  belated  was  crossing  the 
mountain  path.  They  found  both  the  speci- 
mens and  the  blue  parasol,  and  on  leaving  her 


8o  Lights  Along  the  Track 

he  courteously  asked  her  to  walk  with  him 
about  sunset.  She  accepted  and  thanked  him 
cordially  for  his  shelter  and  his  kindness. 

As  she  entered  the  spacious  dining  room  she 
was  gowned  simply  in  white,  relieved  only  by 
a  spray  of  goldenrod,  with  a  purple  aster  in 
her  hair.  The  professor  thought,  'What  a 
broad  mind;  how  she  loves  the  Hchen-covered 
rocks,  the  wild  flowers  and  the  poet's  sage." 
He  reluctantly  taught  the  lessons  that  after- 
noon, so  eager  and  full  of  anticipation  was  he 
for  that  sunset  stroll.  They  walked  toward  the 
parsonage,  and  talked  of  the  city,  hamlet, 
school  and  store  until  the  "shadows  were 
wide."  Harry  Vernon  had  a  large  class  of 
girls  who  were  ready  to  captivate  him,  but  he 
had  not  cared  for  them.  Now,  however, 
he  seemed  to  have  found  a  ''woman  nobly 
planned,"  who  was  his  ideal. 

The  class  recognized  the  fact,  and  became 
agitated  and  one  of  them  even  ventured  to 
write  him,  kindly  informing  him  that  Miss 
Earle  had  been  seen  on  the  train  with  a  young 
man  of  questionable  character.  The  young 
man's  mother  was  a  blue-stocking  and  a  good 
woman,  but  he  was  of  doubtful  character.   The 


Glimpses  Along  the  Way  8i 

writer  thought  it  her  duty  to  inform  him,  as  it 
was  village  gossip. 

Professor  Vernon  laughingly  tossed  the  ugly 
missive  into  the  open  grate.  Esther  had  told 
him  of  that  forced  conversation,  and  why  she 
had  permitted  it.  He  understood  the  matter 
thoroughly,  and  also  the  motive  that  the  writer 
had  in  mind. 

He  and  Miss  Earle  attended  the  weekly  pray- 
er-meetings together.  The  last  evening  she  was 
to  be  there,  they  walked  to  church  as  usual, 
Hstening  to  the  bell's  half  sad  tone  ring  out  the 
vesper-air  in  the  early  twilight.  The  topic  of  the 
hour  was  "Fidelity."  Harry  Vernon  became 
serious,  and  desired  to  be  a  Christian  and  live 
out  a  glorious  manhood.  After  the  service  he 
asked  Esther  to  become  his  wife.  He  urged  that 
they  live  a  life  of  fidelity,  with  the  great  purpose 
to  help  in  the  raising  of  fallen  humanity,  to  walk 
uprightly  and  to  strive  never  to  deviate  from 
the  narrow  way,  and  in  true  fidelity  to  live 
again  in  that  great  kingdom  which  He  has  gone 
to  prepare. 

After  a  long  silence,  she  replied,  softly,  "You 
protected  me  one  morning,  and  I  accept  you  as 
my  life's  protector." 


82  Lights  Along  the  Track 

Esther  Vernon  journeys  no  more  alone.  She 
often  looks  backward  in  happy  reminiscence  to 
the  ''gHmpses  along  the  way"  and  with  grati- 
tude to  the  Great  Father.  Shall  we  not  leave 
her  thus? 


IX 

BY  THE  WAYSIDE 

I   WAS  selecting  a  seat  in  the  South  Terminal 
Station,    Boston,    when    a    childish    voice 
singing,  very  softly,  attracted  my  attention. 
Listening,  I  caught  the  words: 

There'll  be  something  in  heaven  for  children  to   do; 

None  are  idle  in  that  blessed  land. 

There'll  be  love  for  the  heart, 

And  thoughts  for  the  mind, 

And  employment  for  each  little  hand. 

My  heart  rebounded  to  the  days  of  earnest 
work  in  the  primary  department  of  a  Boston 
church.  I  recalled  the  sunny  little  faces,  up- 
turned to  mine,  as  I  lovingly  taught  them  that 
melody: 


By  the  Wayside  83 

There'll  be  something  in  heaven  for  children  to   do. 

Suddenly  my  thoughts  were  interrupted  by 
the  little  girl's  exclamation, 

"Why,  mamma,  there's  the  lady  who  taught 
me  that  hymn!" 

I  then  questioned  the  little  girl,  and  learned 
that  she  had  been  one  of  my  pupils  in  the  pri- 
mary department  a  few  years  before.  She  had 
been  adopted  by  the  lady  with  whom  she  was, 
and  was  going  to  live  with  her  foster-mother 
in  New  York. 

I'm  sure  she  will'  diffuse  a  halo  of  sunshine 
o'er  the  lonely  home  of  a  childless  woman  who 
had  buried  her  own  sweet  child  a  little  while  be- 
fore. Certainly,  I  have  a  fresh  amount  of  cour- 
age to  teach  the  'little  ones,"  and  I  am  satis- 
fied that  the  fruits  of  our  labor  live — that  we 
are  blessed  with  astonishing  results  in  the  com- 
ing years,  if  not  today. 

There  are  opportunities  all  along  the  way- 
side; let  us  grasp  them  while  we  may.  They 
will  be  mirrored  back  in  some  unknown  avenue 
of  our  lives,  showering  us  with  peace  and  rest, 
when  we  most  need  those  blessings. 


84  Lights  Along  the  Track 


X 

UNSEEN  POWER 

LONG  before  the  rising  sun  greeted  the 
day,  the  conductor's  wife  was  bustUng 
about  preparing  a  warm  breakfast,  in  or- 
der that  her  husband  might  be  on  time  to  start 
his  morning  train.  A  signal  from  his  hand — 
'*all  aboard" — and  they  were  off  on  schedule 
time.  His  wife,  listening  in  her  kitchen,  hears 
the  sound  of  a  departing  train  and  feels  that  re- 
responsibility  set  aside  for  another  day.  The 
children  must  be  awakened  in  time  for  school, 
and  the  cooking  must  be  done,  and  other  duties, 
born  unto  each  successive  day,  attended  to  in 
their  turn.  Ere  she  is  aware  of  it,  night  hovers 
near,  mantled  with  storm-clouds  and  dark  fore- 
bodings of  coming  tempest. 

As  usual,  she  gives  attention  to  all  the  little 
matters  that  are  legion  when  a  storm  is  impend- 
ing and  then  replenishes  the  fire,  Hghts  the 
lamp  and  sits  down  with  her  mending  basket, 
laden  with  garments  to  be  patched,  holes  to  be 


Unseen  Power  85 

darned  and  buttons  to  be  sewed  on.  The  clock 
strikes  eight,  warning  her  that  it  is  bed-time  for 
her  little  folks,  who  have  been  playing  with 
games  and  dolls.  She  wearily  climbs  the  stairs 
to  be  with  them  while  their  evening  "Now  I 
Lay  Me"  and  "Our  Father"  are  said,  after 
which  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  until  he 
whom  she  knows  is  not  many  towns  away  shall 
have  come. 

Soon  she  will  see  his  lantern's  circling  light 
and  flash,  sending  her  an  assurance  that  he  has 
returned  to  his  home  and  family  in  safety.  But 
hark!  The  wind  has  arisen  and  now  whistles 
wildly  among  the  trees  surrounding  the  cottage. 
The  snow  is  blowing  and  drifting  in  great 
white  piles.  She  resolves  to  wait  for  him, 
knowing  that  she  must  have  a  blazing  fire  and 
warm  lunch  ready  when  with  the  snow-plough's 
aid,  the  train  should  reach  its  destination. 

She  stands  the  lamp  on  the  window  sill  so 
that  it's  bright  rays  act  as  a  beacon-light,  throw- 
ing a  gleam  across  the  snow  embanked  lawn. 
The  great  sheets  of  snow  blow  village-ward, 
and  the  watcher  wonders  whether  it  will  be 
possible  for  her  loved  one  to  make  his  way 
through  the  bridge  of  cold,  merciless  snow.  The 


86  Lights  Along  the  Track 

wind  still  rattles  at  the  casement,  but  above  the 
tempest's  ceaseless  roar  she  hears  the  welcome 
ringing  of  the  engine-bell.  The  clang,  clang  re- 
sounds above  the  roar  of  storm  and  wind,  and 
brings  peace  to  her  troubled  spirit.  She  had 
feared  he  might  be  snowbound. 

Soon  she  will  hear  his  familiar  footstep,  and 
she  must  meet  him  cheerily.  Knowing  that  he 
will  be  weary  of  innumerable  questions  and  an- 
swers of  many  people,  she  nobly  determines  to 
hide  all  her  petty  grievances  and  worries. 

As  he  breaks  his  way  through  the  path  lead- 
ing to  the  porch,  she  opens  wide  the  door, 
flooding  the  yard  with  the  cheery  glow  of  the 
crackling  fire,  and  greets  him  warmly.  While 
he  shakes  ofif  the  melting  flakes  from  his  great 
coat  and  rubs  his  tingling  hands,  the  busy 
wife  lays  the  warm  lunch  before  him  and  for 
company's  sake,  sips  her  cup  of  tea  by  his  side, 
and  she  tells  him  of  the  bright  sayings  of  the 
little  ones,  almost  strangers  to  their  father,  and 
reads  the  weekly  letter  ''from  home"  to  him. 

He  listens  attentively,  interspersing  her  story 
with  the  tale  of  the  delays  and  hardships  of  the 
run.  She  admires  his  honest  face,  the  becoming 
uniform  of  blue,  and  the  buttons  of  brass,  and 


Homeless  87 

he  regards  affectionately  his  cheerful,  tidy  wife. 
Of  all  the  sea  of  faces  he  beholds  daily,  hers  is 
the  best,  the  dearest  and  sweetest.  He  asserts 
that  the  source  of  his  success  lies  in  his  little 
kingdom — home. 

Is  there  a  hand  invisible  that  helps  to  start 
the  train? 


XI 
HOMELESS 

SHE  who  once  had  a  happy  home  and  loved 
ones,  was  to-night  alone  in  Boston.  She 
had  sought  lodgings  in  the  near  town  to 
be  near  her  work,  but  how  she  missed  the  com- 
forts of  home!  As  she  was  returning  from 
work,  she  thought  of  days  when  around  her 
father's  hearth  they  had  sung  songs  of  glee  and 
her  "mother's  song  and  her  father's  smile  were 
in  her  heart  to-night."  She  gazed  toward  the 
starry  heaven,  pleadingly,  as  if  to  ask  ''strength 
for  the  day."  Just  then  an  elderly  lady  who  was 
passing,  slipped  and  fell.  Constance  Meyer 
hastened  to  her  side,  saying: 


88  Lights  Along  the  Track 

''You  are  hurt?  May  I  take  you  to  your 
home?" 

"Yes,  my  child,  I,  fear  I  have  sprained  my 
ankle." 

That  was  the  way  things  shaped  themselves 
and  brought  Constance  Meyer  to  Mrs.  Greg- 
ory's lovely  home.  The  old  lady  hked  her  hon- 
est, kindly  bearing,  and  offered  her  a  home  in 
exchange  for  light  duties. 

***** 

Three  years  passed.  Constance  still  dwelt  in 
the  Gregory  house,  not  as  a  dependent,  but  as 
one  of  the  family.  She  had  formed  a  character, 
gained  the  highest  esteem  of  all  who  knew  her. 
Mrs.  Gregory  was  such  a  dear  old  lady,  "grow- 
ing old  gracefully,  cheerful  and  bright." 

Constance  was  privileged  to  read  and  sing  to 
her  each  evening.  Mrs.  Gregory  never  wearied 
of  listening  to  the  dreamy  song: 

I  have  so  loved  thee, 

But  cannot,  cannot  hold  thee, 

Fading  like  a   dream, 

The  shadows  fold  thee; 

Slowly  thy  perfect  beauty  fades  away, 

Good  bye,   Sweet  Day! 

Good  bye,  Sweet  Day! 


Homeless  89 

Constance  always  sang  with  such  pathos,  and 
it  was  well  Mrs.  Gregory  did  not  know  the  pain 
it  cost  her.  One  evening  she  was  playing  a  fa- 
vorite waltz  when  Mrs.  Gregory's  son  George 
entered,  and  interrupting,  said: 

"May  I  speak  with  you  a  few  moments,  Con- 
tance?" 

She  arose  quietly,  and  said,  ''Certainly,  with 
pleasure.     Be  seated,  Mr.  Gregory." 

"Constance,  I  want  to  declare  my  great  love 
for  you,  and  beg  you  to  be  my  wife,  and  fill 
the  place  in  our  home  which  you  deserve." 

He  then  awaited  her  answer.  Pained,  he  saw 
all  the  contentment  leave  her  eyes  and  sudden 
anguish  take  its  place.  He  had  come  in  touch 
with  a  part  of  her  life  which  she  had  never 
deemed  it  necessary  to  disclose.  What  should 
she  say?  And  how  would  she  say  it?  She  ex- 
tended her  hand  and  said: 

"Dear  friend,  I  thank  you  for  the  honor  be- 
stowed me  by  your  ofifer  and — and,  I  ask  your 
pardon  for  not  having  confided  to  such  kind 
people  my  shadowed  life-story,  but  I  can  never 
be  your  wife.  Since  an  explanation  will  not 
bring  back  vows  I  made  before  God  and  man,  I 
had  best  not  unveil  the  past.    Accept  my  noblest 


90  Lights  Along  the  Track 

efforts  to  lend  a  pervading  influence  to  promote 
the  happiness  of  this  household  as  in  the  past 
three  years,  but  I  can  be  no  more." 

He  did  not  prolong  the  agony,  but  said, 
"God  bless  you,  Constance,"  and  left  her  alone. 
He  guessed  the  burden  of  her  Hfe — that  it  was 
a  bitter  disappointment,  but  he  never  again  ap- 
proached the  subject  which  had  brought  to  the 
surface  memories  of  a  clouded  life.  Therefore 
he  never  knew,  nor  did  he  wonder,  when, 
through  some  living  grief  which  she  had  borne 
so  long,  Constance  Meyer  grew  pale  and  ill  and 
before  long  her  pure  soul  forever  found  free- 
dom, peace  and  rest  in  a  home  not  made  with 
hands. 

Her   half   day's    work   was   done. 
And  that  was  all  her  part, 
She  had  given  a  patient  God, 
A  patient  heart. 


Only  a  Tramp  91 


XII 

ONLY  A  TRAMP 

HORTENSE  HOLMES  was  putting  the 
last  touch  to  the  arrangement  of  her  hair, 
taking  a  glance  at  herself  in  the  mirror, 
and  thinking:  "I  hope  I  shall  sing  my  best  at 
the  concert  tonight,  for  the  benefit  is  toward 
the  fund  for  aged  women."  She  was  particularly 
interested  in  that.  She  hastened  in  order  to  be 
ready  when  her  father  should  return  from  town. 
A  loud  knock  on  the  kitchen  door  impelled  her 
to  rush  down  the  stairs.  To  her  horror  she 
beheld  a  tramp  who  confronted  her,  saying, 
"Please  give  me  a  lunch.     I'm  hungry." 

Seeing  her  evident  timidity,  as  she  shrank 
back  terrified  at  his  begrimmed  countenance,  he 
grew  bolder  and  said: 

"You'd  better  hurry,  or  I  might  come  right 
in  and  help  myself.  Say,  Miss,  you  look  as  if 
you  were  going  to  a  ball.  Are  you  going 
away?" 

Hortense,   during  this   time   was   reluctantly 


92  Lights  Along  the  Track 

obeying  his  command,  and  thinking:  "I  must 
keep  him  until  papa  returns.  If  I  go  to  rehearsal 
before  then,  he  will  know  that  the  house  is  un- 
occupied. I  will  play  and  sing  to  him,  and  that 
will  detain  his  wicked  designs." 

After  he  had  eaten  the  lunch,  Hortense  smil- 
ingly asked  if  he  would  not  like  to  rest,  since  he 
had  been  traveling,  to  which  suggestion  he 
willingly  acquiesced.  Then  she  ventured  to  en- 
quire whether  he  would  care  to  hear  her  play 
and  sing.  He  seemed  to  be  losing  his  tramp 
dialect,  as  he  replied  courteously: 

''I  should  be  very  grateful  if  you  would  be  so 
kind." 

Miss  Holmes  sang  tremblingly  and  made  one 
or  two  mistakes  in  her  accompaniment  because 
of  her  unexpected  and  strange  audience.  As 
she  finished  her  ballad,  ''Her  Bright  Smile 
Haunts  Me  Still,"  she  turned  and  saw  tears  in 
the  vagabond's  eyes.  He  brushed  them  away 
and  said, 

''Thank  you.  You  sang  very  nicely,  but  I 
think  you  could  do  better  to  another's  accom- 
paniment.    May  I  play  for  you?" 

Hortense  replied  hesitatingly, 

'T  suppose  I  could,  if  you  could  play." 


Only  a  Tramp  93 

Much  to  her  surprise  he  arose,  and  turning 
the  stool  around  a  few  times,  seated  himself, 
and  there  in  his  tattered  garments,  with  grimy 
hands  and  disheveled  hair,  he  glanced  at  the 
difficult  music  before  him  and  then,  as  if  to 
make  his  fingers  pliable,  ran  up  and  down  the 
scales  with  exquisite  touch,  distinct  and  acute. 
He  struck  the  prelude  with  such  expression! 
The  young  woman  sang  as  never  before,  in- 
spired because  of  the  beautiful  accompaniment 
rendered.  Her  father,  entering,  stood  spell- 
bound. At  the  end  of  the  song,  he  remarked 
sternly, 

"Hortense,  explain  this  singular  affair." 

She  beckoned  him  toward  the  kitchen,  and 
explained  the  strange  proceedings,  instructing 
him  to  treat  the  stranger  kindly — as  we  are 
taught  to  do.  When  they  re-entered  the  music- 
room,  the  tramp  seemed  lost  in  musical  reverie. 

Mr.  Holmes  said,  "Pardon  me  for  intruding 
into  your  private  life,  but  why  does  a  man  of 
your  genius, — wonderful  genius,"  he  reiterated, 
''live  the  life  of  a  mere  hobo?" 

"No  intrusion  at  all,  sir,"  he  replied,  "I  would 
just  as  soon  tell  such  kind  people  why  I  am  a 
tramp.      I    deeply    loved    a    young   woman — a 


94  Lights  Along  the  Track 

musician — the  fairest  artist  of  the  stage.  I  idol- 
ized her  accomplishment!  While  with  an  opera 
company  in  Boston  she  fell  in  love  with  one  of 
the  artists  and  ran  away  with  him.  That  was  the 
last  time  I  touched  the  piano  until  to-day.  Your 
daughter  met  me  at  the  door.  It  carried  me 
back  to  the  days  of  my  stage  career.  She  looks 
and  sings  much  like  my  lost  sweetheart.  Well, 
sir,  that  is  why  I  am  a  wretched  vagabond  to- 
day. I  took  to  tramping,  begging,  and  sleep- 
ing anywhere  and  everywhere,  night  and  day. 
Just  tramping  day  by  day  to  deaden  the  memory 
of  a  false  woman.  This  is  the  first  time  I  have 
exposed  my  true  self  since  I  learned  the  cruel 
news." 

Mr.  Holmes  was  pleased  with  the  story,  so 
common,  expressively  told  in  well  chosen  words 
and  in  an  honest  tone.  After  he  had  considered 
a  few  moments,  he  said, 

'T  am  sorry  for  you.  I  would  like  to  engage 
you  to  play  at  the  concert  this  evening.  The 
gentleman  who  had  been  engaged  has  fallen  ill. 
I  came  home  to  tell  my  daughter  and  see  what 
could  be  done.  You  can  .substitute,  wearing  his 
costume." 

The   audience   fairly   swayed  in  wonderment 


Only  a  Tramp  95 

when  the  new  light  stepped  from  behmd  the 
scenes.  His  beautiful  hair  was  neatly  parted 
from  his  high  forehead,  and  he  was  attired  in 
rich  costume.  Excitement  grew  intense  as  the 
grand  piano  vibrated  as  note  after  note  rose 
and  fell  at  his  masterly  touch.  Who  was  he? 
How  were  they  so  fortunate  as  to  secure  such 
rare  talent?  These  were  questions  heard  on 
every  side.  The  concert  was  a  great  success. 
It  was  the  voice  of  the  people  to  secure  the 
young  man  for  the  winter.  He  was  introduced 
as  a  friend  of  the  Holmes  family,  and  a  musi- 
cian. 

Mr.  Holmes  remained  reticent  regarding  the 
man's  former  life.  Following  a  series  of  con- 
certs there  was  a  very  quiet  wedding  at  the 
Holmes  residence,  the  contracting  parties  be- 
ing the  German  artist,  Mr.  Gerald  Hardensett 
and  Miss  Hortense  Holmes.  How  happy  they 
looked  as  they  came  in  to  the  merry  strains  of 
Lohengrin's  "Bridal  Chorus."  They  were  in- 
deed merry  and  glad. 

Of  course  it  is  a  foregone  conclusion  that 
they  ''lived  happy  ever  after."  What  story-book 
people   do   not?     So   this  little   romance   must 


9^  Lights  Along  the  Track 


have  the  same  bright   ending.      Hortense   has 
never  regretted  having  sung  to  a  "tramp." 


XIII 
THE  LAST  ACT 

THE  villagers  were  greatly  exercised  over 
the  fact  that  Aunt  Ruth  Richards  was 
boarding  a  baby.  Aunt  Ruth,  as  the  peo- 
ple called  her,  was  an  aged  widow  in  feeble 
health,  and  the  neighbors  wondered  why  she 
undertook  this  great  care;  who  the  child  was, 
and  why  it  was  sent  to  the  country?  They  all 
surmised  differently  but  their  curiosity  was 
never  gratified.  Year  after  year  went  by  and 
baby  had  never  known  any  mother  except 
Aunt  Ruth. 

When  she  was  twelve  years  of  age,  just 
emerging  from  dollhood,  there  came  a  new 
scene  in  the  unfolding  panorama  of  her  life. 
She  and  her  foster-mother  were  sitting  in  their 
warm,  little,  humble  kitchen,  when  a  gentle 
knock  came  upon  the  door.  Little  Helen,  re- 
sponding, grew  speechless  at  the  sight  of  the 


The  Last  Act  97 

wonderful  creation  of  the  striking  figure  before 
her,  who  suddenly  exclaimed: 

*'I  know  my  darling,  I  am  your  mamma! 
The  ocean  has  been  between  us  for  many  years, 
but  now  I  have  returned  from  abroad  to  claim 
my  own." 

Helen  was  delighted  with  her  new  mamma, 
and  childlike,  was  eager  to  go  out  into  the 
great  world,  innocent  of  the  temptations  of 
society-life. 

Her  mother  was  glad  to  reclaim  her  child, 
and  Helen,  bewildered  with  the  fascinating  style 
and  beauty  of  her  mother,  was  overjoyed  to 
accompany  her.  But  one  poor,  lonely  soul 
cried  out  for  the  helpless  little  babe — the  child 
she  had  reared  into  budding  girlhood,  and  now 
old  enough  to  lean  on  in  her  declining  years. 
Her  heart  ached  with  departing  hopes,  and  as 
she  laid  aside  the  plaid  dresses  and  gingham 
aprons,  and  packed  her  new  wardrobe,  of 
French  broad-cloth  and  dainty  party  dresses, 
furnished  by  the  mother,  sorrow  pierced  her 
heart's  depths.  She  felt  as  if  all  the  strings  of 
her  life  were  breaking,  and  slumber  would  not 
bring  peace,  so  many  heart  strings  were  vi- 
brating. 


98  Lights  Along  the  Track 

It  was  nearly  night  the  following  day  when 
Helen  and  her  mother  were  ready  to  go.  As 
the  sun  sank  in  the  golden  sky,  and  the  shad- 
ows were  deepening  into  night,  poor  Aunt 
Ruth  watched  Helen  go  away  forever.  With 
weeping  eyes  she  watched  the  stately  lady 
leave — going  out  into  the  deepening  night  with 
her  darling  child,  nevermore  to  return. 

At  last  she  shut  her  door  and  went  into  her 
home,  robbed  of  its  sunshine  and  love. 


Six  years  went  rapidly  by,  and  Aunt  Ruth 
was  still  restive  and  sad,  still  yearning  for  the 
unattainable.  Finally  the  friendly  neighbors 
saw  that  she  must  have  a  change,  and  advised 
her  to  visit  her  cousin,  who  had  recently  ex- 
tended an  urgent  invitation,  to  come  for  a 
month  to  the  city.  After  much  persuasion, 
Aunt  Ruth  was  willing  to  spend  a  month  in  the 
city.  She  had  been  there  but  a  week,  when  her 
cousin  insisted  on  her  going  to  a  theatre  to 
hear  "From  the  Realm  of  Childhood." 

She  said  it  was  the  wickedest  thing  she'd 
"ever  hear'n  tell",  said  it  was  "all  false  and  a 
waste  of  money." 


The  Last  Act  99 

But  at  length  they  convinced  Aunt  Ruth  how 
pleased  they  would  be  if  she  would  accompany 
them,  so  a  few  evenings  later  they  were  all 
comfortably  seated  in  a  box,  and  the  curtain 
rose  on  a  beautiful  young  actress  of  about 
eighteen,  who  sang,  "You're  as  welcome  as  the 
flowers  in  May." 

Without  warning.  Aunt  Ruth  leaned  out  over 
the  railing  of  the  box  and  called,  "Helen,  my 
dear — come  to  Aunt  Ruth!" 

Her  friends  checked  her,  and  told  her  that  if 
she  would  wait  until  the  close  of  the  play,  she 
could  go  behind  the  scenes  and  meet  the  singer. 
The  actress  acquitted  herself  in  her  parts  of 
the  play  with  the  greatest  success.  One  could 
never  have  told  that  she  had  heard  her  old 
friend's  call,  and  recognized  her  voice;  when 
the  curtain  fell  for  the  last  time,  she  hurried  to 
Aunt  Ruth  and  said,  "Come  with  me,  Auntie." 

Soon  they  were  driving  quickly  over  the 
city's  pavements,  to  Helen's  appartments  in  the 
Grand  Hotel.  She  told  Aunt  Ruth  how  her 
mother  had  died  soon  after  the  completion  of 
her  education,  and  that  she  did  not  like  a  stage 
career. 

"I  love  the  birds,  the  hills  of  my  childhood's 


loo  Lights  Along  the  Track 


home,  and  I  want  to  go  back  and  up  the  long 
lane  to  your  little  home.  May  I  go  back  with 
you,  Aunt  Ruth?    Never  to  forsake  you  again!" 

"Yes,"  sobbed  Aunt  Ruth. 

And  the  last  act  was  ended. 


XIV 

A  FIREMAN'S  CHILD 

(Suggested  by  the  death  of  a  member  of  the   San 
Francisco  Fire  Department.) 

LI  E  was  dead.     By  the  casket  the  watchers  sat; 
*  *        When  his  Httle  daughter  came  into  sight, 
And  said,  "What's  the  matter  with  my  papa?" 

When  told  he  slept,   she  said,  "Papa,  good-night." 

Satisfied,  she  slept,  as  'neath  an  angel's  wing; 

When  the  gong,  which  summoned  him  to  duty 
As  before,  began  loud  and  sharply  to  ring; 

Waking  the  child,  in  her  innocent  beauty. 

It  rang  once,  twice,  and  was  repeating,  now, 
The  alarm,  when,  flying  into  the  room 

Came  the  child,  in  her  white  robe,  with  pale  brow. 
Climbed  up  to  her  papa,  all  clad  for  the  tomb. 


A  Fireman's  Child  loi 

Then  shouted,  "Wake  up,  papa,  wake  up,  oh,  wake! 

There  is  a  fire,  oh!  papa,  don't  you  hear? 
Please,  papa,  wake  up!"     She  began  to  shake 

With  terror;  then  turned  to  the  watchers  near 

With   questioning   face,  persisting  still, 
"He  always,  always  did  get  up  before, 

Why  don't  he  wake  at  the  sound  of  the  bell?" 
She  kept  still  repeating  o'er  and  o'er. 

A  watcher  kindly  said,  "Never  mind  the  bell. 
Your  papa  won't  go  to  the  fire  to-night." 

"But  what  makes  mamma  cry  so,  why  don't  you-tell?" 
Sad  tears  filling  the  little  eyes  bright. 

They  carried  her  away,  to  her  little  bed. 
Weeping,  because  her  papa  did  not  wake. 

She  has  yet  to  learn  that  her  papa  is  dead; 
And  cannot  return,  e'en  for  sweet  love's  sake. 

But  there  is  a  happy  world,  where  none  shall  weep. 

There  the  brave  fireman  will  again  behold 
His  precious  family  which  God  will  keep, 

'Till  he  greets  them  again  at  heaven's  gates  of  gold. 


io2  Lights  Along  the  Track 


XV 

MEMORIAL  DAY 

I  WOULD  that  a  floral  offering 
*         I  could  place  on  my  father's  grave. 
For  he  fought  in  many  battles, 
And  was  a  soldier  true  and  brave. 

But  alas!     He  is  quietly  sleeping 

In  Denver,  at  far  Riverside, 
The  Master,  in  His  reaping, 

Called  home  my  loving  guide. 

Called  for  my  own  dear  father 

To  come  with  him  and  live  up  higher. 

Now  he  is  with  the  angels  of  Heaven 
Singing  in  the  Heavenly  choir. 

The  soldiers  will  march  to-day 
In  that  lone  "City  of  the  Dead" 

All  dressed  in  bright  array, 
Of  the  army  blue — it  is  said. 

Methinks  I  hear  the  soldiers'  feet, 
As  with  stately  step  and  solemn  tread. 

They  step  to  martial  music  sweet. 
Bringing  sweet  laurels  for  the  dead. 


Saved  from  the  Bar-room^  103 


In  Heaven  no  sound  of  battle  comes, 
Tho'  those  brave  soldiers  will  be  there; 

No  sound  of  cannonade  or  drums 
Will  ring  out  on  the  peaceful  air. 

Bright  flowers  in  abundance  grow, 
And  living  waters  sweetly  glide. 

No  pain  or  fear  they  ever  know. 
With  Christ  their  Saviour  they  abide. 


XVI 
SAVED  FROM  THE  BAR-ROOM 

(Suggested  by  an  incident  related  in  a  temperance 
lecture  by  J.  G.  Woolly.) 

WAS  lying  in  a  drunken  state, 

When  this  message  to  me  was  read: 
"Come  quickly  ere  it  be  too  late, 

For  your  mother  will  soon  be  dead." 


1 


I  roused  me  from  my  drunken  sleep. 
Hastened  homeward  to  her  side. 

Where  watchers  did  their  vigil  keep. 
As  she  met  death's  incoming  tide. 

She   said:   "I   am  now  dying,  John." 
On  my  finger  a  ring  she  placed, 


I04  Lights  Along  the  Track 

Saying,  "Will  you  wear  it  when  I'm  gone? 
A  pledge  that  liquor  you'll  never  take?" 

I  answered,  with  a  decided  voice, 

"I  never  will  drink  any  more." 
It  made  her  dying  heart  rejoice 

As    she   left   for   the    Heavenly   shore. 

I  went  away,  resolved  to  keep 

The  vow  I  had  in  sorrow  spoken. 
But  found,  alas,  that  I  was  weak. 

Before  sunset  the  vow  was  broken. 

One  night,  returning  from  my  work, 
A  comrade  hailed  me,  "Have  a  drink?" 

'Twas  then  I  took  that  mad'ning  glass 
Before  I  had  stopped  to  think. 

Next  morning  I  was  sober  again, 

Refreshed  by  a  good  night's  sleep. 
Yet  wholly  discouraged  about  myself, 

And  the  promises  I  could  not  keep. 

I  called  my  wife  and  children  dear, 

And  said,  "I  have  made  a  new  plan; 
I  am  going,  maybe,  to  the  world's  end — 

Shall  not  return  till  a  sober  man." 

I  said  good-bye,  and  donned  my  hat, 

And  to  the  depot  quickly  sped. 
There,  in  the  dingy  depot,  sat, 

Thinking  of  my  family  and  the  dead. 


Saved  from  the  Bar-room  105 

When  lo,  Rachel  came,  saying,  ''John,  send 

If  you  need  me  or  our  children. 
Whether  you  are  drunk  or  sober — 

No  matter  if  to  the  world's  end." 

Then  the  train  came  speeding  o'er  the  track, 

And  I  kissed  my  brave  little  wife. 
Saying,  "I  shall  not  again  come  back 

Until  I  can  live  a  true  and  sober  life." 

After  many  struggles  my  foe  was  slain. 

I  longed  to  be  at  home  once  more. 
So  I  started  on  a  home-bound  train. 

To  my  "own,  my  native  shore." 

A  comrade  said,  with  a  pleasant  smile, 

"For  something,  John,  you're  saved,  I'm  sure." 

"I  am,"  I  answered,  "to  work  a  while, 
To  warn  others  of  sorrows  I  endure." 

I  have  to  weep  o'er  wasted  years 

And   o'er   bright  prospects    blighted. 
But  a  cheerful  vision  now  appears — 

At  last  my  mistakes  are  righted. 

The  demon  drink,  my  friend,  is  strong, 

Too  strong  for  one  to  conquer  alone. 
But  God  will  help  all  the  way  along, 

Till  finally  he  is  overthrown. 


io6  Lights  Along  the  Track 

XVII 
SAVED  FROM  THE  FIRE 

>Tn  WAS  a  night  when  the  tempest  raged — and  cold 

*  the  wintry  sleet; 

When  all  were  glad  to  hasten  home,  their  loving  ones 

to  greet. 
All  prayed  there'd  be  no  fires,  while  the  storm  o'er 

the  city  swept, 
While  the  fireman,  on  "house  patrol,"  his  lonely  vigil 

kept. 

When   loudly  clanged  the  bells,   and   faithful   horses' 

flying  feet 
With  sparkling  engines,  came  rumbling,  dashing  down 

the  street. 
The  busy  street  was  vacated;  the  fearless  firemen  held 

sway; 
And  the  brave  boys  located  in  the  firemen's  right  of 

way. 

It  was  a  tenement  building  with  precious  souls  within. 
At  once  to  quench  the  towering  flames,  the  firemen 

did  begin. 
And  o'er  the  slippery  ladders,  the  brave  men  mounted 

high. 
With  not  a  thought  of  self,  but  of  souls  in  there  to 

die. 


Saved  from  the  Fire  107 

In  a  fourth-story  window,  her  face  in  pleading  prayer, 
Stood   a  young  wife,   by  angry   flames   encompassed 

there. 
Not  a  ladder  that  would  reach  her,  not  a  hope  for  her 

life; 
When  a  fireman  shouted:  "She  must  be  saved,  she  is 

my  wife!" 

With   his   courage   buoyed   by   love,   he   climbed   the 

dizzy  height. 
And  on  "his   own  living  shoulders  he  held  a  ladder 

right," 
'Mid  the   seething  flames   she   sees   him,   and  to  the 

rescue  leaps; 
Then    down    her    husband's    shoulders,    she    slowly, 

safely  creeps. 

The  crowd   had   speechless   stood,   beneath   the   lurid 

sky, 
But   now  they    sent   heavenward,   a   joyous,   thankful 

cry. 
See!     The  fireman  holds  his  fainting  wife — his  great 

reward — 
Unconscious  of  the  scene  around — his  heart  went  up 

to   God. 


There  are  as  many  brave  hearts  to-day,  'neath  the  suit 

of  blue. 
And  as  many  noble  deeds  are  done  the  whole  year 

through. 


io8  Lights  Along  the  Track 

Let  us  all  pray  that  God  will  bless,  and  take  them 

home  to  Heaven, 
When  all  their  work  is  o'er,  and  their  "last  alarm"  is 

given. 


XVIII 

WELCOME  TO  BOSTON 

(Air:  "Ring  the  Bells  of  Heaven.") 

Ode  to  Christian  Endeavorers,  who  met  in  Boston  in 

1905. 

D  ING  the  bells  of  Boston,  there  is  joy  to-day; 
*^       Welcome  them  from  near  and  from  afar. 
We'll  all  go  out  to  meet  them  out  upon  the  way, 
And  sing  the  gates  of  Boston  are  ajar. 

Chorus 
Glory,  glory  how  the  Endeavorers  sing — 

Glory,  glory,  what  sweet  news  they  bring. 
'Tis  a  glorious  army,  come  from  strand  to  strand. 

Flinging  out  their  banners  o'er  the  land. 

Sing,  oh,  feathered  songsters,  sing  your  merriest  lay, 
While  the  garden  flowers  nod  and  thrive. 

For  souls  shall  be  gathered  for  the  realms  of  day 
At  meetings  here  in  Boston,  ninety-five. 

We  know  that  there's  rejoicing  of  a  "chorus"  grand, 
In  that  bright  and  happy  world  above; 


The  Fatal  Alarm  109 

When  they  hear  the  music  on  this  earthly  strand 
And  the   Christians  teaching  "God  is  Love." 

We'll  all  meet  in  the  homeland,  where  parting  comes 
no  more, 

Where  the  "many,  many  mansions  be;" 
And  angels  then  shall  meet  us  on  the  homeland  shore, 

When  we  anchor  o'er  the  heavenly  sea. 


XIX 

THE  FATAL  ALARM 

^^  N  the  shimmering  air  of  leafy  June, 
^^       When  earth  laughed  out  in  nature's  array, 
Sounded  the  fire  bell's  solemn,  warning  tune, 
Calling  the  firemen  to  arise  and  away. 

In  a  home  embowered  in  peace  and  rest, 

Awaited  a  daughter  and  faithful  wife, 
Keeping  vigil  for  one  they  loved  best, 

So  soon  to  give  to  the  city  his  life. 

At  the  fire  a  command  to  him  was  said: 

"The  fire  bars  you  off — leap  into  the  water" — 

His  choice  was  the  ocean  for  his  death-bed, 
But  he  thought  of  his  dear  wife  and  daughter. 

For  their   strength   he   had   strength   for  that  trying 
hour. 
So  he  fearlessly  met  the  flames'  fiery  breath. 


no  Lights  Along  the  Track 

Trusting  still  in  the  Almighty  Power, 

He  bravely  went  through  the  flames  to  his  death. 

Thus  he  sacrificed  life  for  his  fellow-men, 
Leaving  a  record,  we'll  ever  keep  in  view — 

As  a  precious  legacy,  to  guide  us  when 
We  are  weak  and  err,  and  need  example  true. 

His  people  yearn  for  his  genial  face  to-day! 

The  city  bends  low  in  one  united  cry. 
For  his  old-time  step  and  gentle,  noble  way. 

Heaven's  portals  swung  behind  him,  while  we  sigh. 

The  home  is  dreary  since  from  it  he  is  riven. 
But  he  is  waiting  for  us  in  that  clime  afar. 

He  has  lifted  the  veil  'twixt  earth  and  Heaven, 
And  he  sees  "the  God  of  things  as  they  are." 


XX 

INSPIRATION 

1   SAT   by   the    window   o'erlooking   the    rockbound 
*  shore, 

Admiring  God's  autumn  landscape  in  colors  galore, 
Wrought  on  a  canvas,  pinned  back  from  hillcrest  and 

lea, 
And  it  brought  me  nearer  to  God  and  inspired  me. 


Inspiration  1 1 1 

Afar  in  the  background  were  the  darksome  woodlands 

grey— 
And  the  turbulent  river  winding  adown  the  way. 
But  its  borderland  was  touched  with  warmer  colors 

grand, 
By  the  Great  Painter's  wonderful,  artistic  hand. 

There  were  verdant  tillage  lands  with  cattle  grazing 

by, 
And  all  was  bounded  by  an  ethereal,  blue  sky; 
Lightened    and   blended    by   the    sun's    last   Western 

glow 
And  finished  by  the  flitting  sparrows  He  loved  so. 

An  inspiration  seems  to  have  come  to  dwell. 
That  as  the  painting  was  shadowed — "all  was  well." 
For  above  the  inky  river's  monotonous  sound 
Burst  forth  resplendent  brightness  to  abound. 

Thus  in  our  lives.    When  cares  crowd  out  the  happy 

days, 
We  must  look  up  to  God  and  He  will  blend  our  ways. 
He'll  lighten  our   burdens   and  crown   our  Journey's 

end. 
By  greeting  us  all  in  Heaven,  as  friend  to  friend. 


112  Lights  Along  the  Track 

XXI 
"EXTREMELY  OBLIGING" 

IJ  E  was  sight-seeing  over  the  busy  town, 
*  *        A  visitor  from  the  country  was  he. 
And  now  as  he  gazed  with  many  a  frown 
An  engine  house  he  happened  to  see. 

He  enquired  of  a  fireman  at  the  door, 

"Are  there  many  fires  here?    Do  you  go  to  all?" 

"Oh,  yes,  there  are  many  in  this  district, 
And  we  always  run  to  a  general  call." 

The  querist  kept  on:  "Do  you  ever  hitch  up  to  see 
How  quickly  and  well  you  could  do  such  a  thing?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  but  just  at  that  time 
There  came  an  alarm  from  the  gong's  loud  ring. 

The  stall  doors  flew  open,  when  each  to  his  place 
The  horses  responded  and  quickly  were  reined, 

Towards  duty's  call,  at  a  galloping  pace; 

But  the   old  farmer   thought   he   was   much   enter- 
tained. 

"Well,  now,"  he  soliloquized,   "wasn't  that  clever? 

There's    not    many   towns    where    them    feller's    in 
blue 
Would  take  so  much  trouble  this  hot  weather, 

Just  to  show  a  mere  stranger  what  they  can  doT* 


Sympathy  ii; 


XXII 
SYMPATHY 

TP  HE  Master,  in  reaping  for  Heaven's  bright  clime, 
*         Culls  from  earth's  garden  the  choicest,  the  best; 
From  that  region   He  saw  with  vision  sublime 
That  one  from  your  circle  should  find  perfect  rest. 

Thus,  He  came  in  the  stillness  of  the  dim  night 
And  gently  carried  him  to  that  painless  shore 

Where  angels,  enbowered  in  ethereal  light, 
Whispered  softly,  "All  thy  sufferings  are  o'er." 

God  purposed  to  free  thy  dear  one  from  pain, 
And  teach  the  broken  band  of  unbounded  love, 

Where  the  pure  of  earth  in  Heaven  shall  ever  reign 
In  faith's  beautiful,  myriad  homes  above. 

The  Saviour  left  for  His  own  a  sweet  bequest: 
There's    "strength    for    the    day"    is    the    promise 
given, 
To  solve  life's  problem,  God  is  our  guide  and  rest — 
Our    Pilot    o'er   the    misty    way    'twixt    earth    and 
Heaven. 

My    friend    and    children,    look    above    this    earthly 
sphere, 
View  the  wide  bloom  of  eternal  springtime's  shore. 


114  Lights  Along  the  Track 

Weave  a  life  of  faith  and  hope  while  you  are  here, 
And  you'll  meet  again,  where  hearts  shall  grieve  no 
more. 


XXIII 

THE  BATTLE   OF  GETTYSBURG 

(Suggested  by  the  memorable  painting.) 

OENEATH  the  sky  one  seems  to  stand, 
*^       Upon  a  fearful  battle-ground. 
Gazing  over  the  stricken  land, 
Yet  one  cannot  hear  a  sound. 

All  is  wrapped  in  silence,  solemn; 

And  something  of  dread  and  fear, 
Steals  over  us  at  the  suffering 

Of  those  some  one  loved  so  dear. 

It  gives  us  a  realization 

More  plainly  than  words  can  tell. 
Of  the  sorrows  of  our  nation 

And  what  to  us  then  befell. 

To  see  the  brave  and  noble  war-horse. 

Struggling  with  the  fatal  shot, 
And  the  dead  being  borne  away 

Where  their  friends  could  see  them  not. 


The  Battle  of  Gettysburg  115 

Lodged  were  fields  of  wheat, 

With  lovely,  glistening  sheen 
Through  which  the  army  beat; 

To  the  battle-field  so  green. 

Each  thought  that  he  was  right 

Nor  deemed  he  could  be  wrong; 
All  did  most  bravely  fight, 

Each  within  his  army  strong. 

In  this  fierce  and  bloody  battle, 

The  turning  point  had  come. 
The  sound  of  strife  and  cannon's  rattle 

Soon  were  changed  to  "Home,  Sweet  Home." 

As  tourists  visit  Gettysburg; 

They  see  at  most  graves  a  stone 
That  arises  a  dormant  memory 

For  it  bears  the  sad  word,  "Unknown." 

Many  are  now  gently  sleeping 
In  those  broad  fields  'neath  flowers  white. 

But  their  souls  are  in  God's  keeping; 
In  the  "many  mansions  bright." 

Now  there  is  no  North  or  South. 

We  are  all  brothers — united — 
We'll  meet  no  more  at  the  cannon's  mouth, 

But  in  Heaven  where  wrongs  are  righted. 

Let  us  give  the  painter  homage 
Who  has  made  the  battle  so  plain. 


1 16  Lights  Along  the  Track 

Who,  with  his  brush  and  pallette 
Has  brought  the  past  to  us  again. 


XXIV 

IN    MEMORY    OF    A    RAILROAD    ENGINEER 

IJ  E  hath  reached  the  highlands  of  glory 
*  *        Towering  above  this  region  of  pain. 
There  he  has  heard  the  Saviour's  story, 
Why  He  was  taken  to  Heaven  to  reign. 

When  he  left  the  grand  old  engine, 

He  bravely  said:  "Take  her,  boys,  I  am  through; 
I  find  I  must  resign  the  work  of  years. 

For,  you  see,  I  have  not  the  strength  to  do." 

Through  all  the  weary  weeks  of  painful  test, 

He  murmured  not,  or  feared  to  die; 
But  anticipated — the  promised  rest 

And  said:  "The  Lord  will  call  me  bye-and-bye." 

He  left  a  happy  home  where  peace  hovered  near, 
Left,  too,  the  iron  steed  he  had  guided  aright: 

But  it  was  well  with  Joe,  the  engineer. 
For  a  heavenly  home  was  ever  in  sight. 

He  has  gained  that  wondrous  station — grand — 
At  the  end  of  earth's  long  and  busy  run. 

There  in  rapture  he  waits  on  that  bright  strand, 
To  welcome  you  home  when  your  work  is  done. 


Welcome  to  the  Grand  Army  117 


XXV 

WELCOME  TO  THE  GRAND  ARMY 

I    ONG,  long  years  since  the  army  disbanded; 
*^       Long,  long  years  since  the  cannon's  loud  roar; 
Long,  long  years  since  the  war-cry  sounded; 
And  our  soldiers  returned  to  battle  no  more. 

Listen!     Is  it  the  martial  step  and  cannon's  rattle 
Sounding  once  again  along  the  street? 

Yes,  'tis  our  soldiers,  but  not  in  battle, 
For  in  a  land  of  blessed  peace  they  meet. 

See!  the  battle-scarred  men,  in  coats  of  blue; 

Marching  'neath  the  starry  flags  on  high! 
They  are  heroes  who  fought  nobly  and  true 

When  the  awful  danger  lingered  nigh. 

Oh,  give  the  soldiers  a  royal  welcome, 
Those  veterans  grown  grey  with  the  years. 

And  their  brave  sons  who  are  ready  for  war 
Whenever  that  dreadful  cloud  appears. 

May  our  Saviour  watch  over  the  nation, 

Guard  it  and  keep  it  from  strife! 
May  He  be  a  wall  of  salvation — 

Lead  and  guide  us,  and  protect  each  life. 


ii8  Lights  Along  the  Track 


In  the  beauteous  land  far  above  us; 

There  are  our  brave  martyrs  marching  to-day; 
Those  who  bravely  fell;  those  who  love  us, 

Killed  in  the  battle-field's  dread  affray. 

Soon  there  will  be  a  reunion  broad  and  grand, 
When  the  bugle  calls  for  the  "grand  review;" 

For,  saved  from  earth's  battles  on  the  peaceful  strand, 
Are  waiting  the  soldiers  we  loved  so  true. 


XXVI 

RETROSPECTION 

TP  HERE'S  a  spot  very  pleasant  to  me, 
*         A  shady  green  place  by  the  river; 
In  whatever  place  I  may  happen  to  be 
'Twill  linger  in  memory  forever. 

A  school-house  I  see,  a  storm-beaten  thing, 
Happy   children    were   always   there. 

And  fresh  with  dew  of  the  morning  bring 
Flowers  so  beautiful,  rich  and  rare. 

I  see,  too,  the  river  that  turns  the  mill 
Winding  on  toward  the  distant  sea; 

I  know  like  that,  we  are  going  still 

On  to  that  Kingdom,  stainless  and  free. 

I  have  stood  on  the  ledges  wide, 
And  watched  the  sparkling  waters  flow, 


Old  Home  Week  119 

And  have  seen  the  boatmen  gently  glide, 
As  with  merry  hearts  they  lightly   row. 

I  have  seen  the  sun  set  o'er  the  river. 

No  grander  sight  mortal  eye  will  know, 
As  those  gorgeous  clouds  reflected 

Their  beauty  in  the  waters  below. 

I  wonder  if  our  deeds  will  shine  forth 

As  clearly  as  the  cloud's  reflection. 
And  if  we  shall  see  them  again, 

In  the  future  retrospection. 

We  must  do  kindly  acts  of  love,  » 

That  they  may  shine  forth  bright; 
Then  in  the  beautiful  world  above 

They  will  beam  again,  in  Heaven's  own  light. 


XXVII 

OLD  HOME  WEEK 

IT'S  a  sacred  legend  of  each  heart — the  going  home 
*  again; 

When  the   year  has   waxed  into   summer's   mellow, 
drowsy  days; 
And  one  hears  the   gentle   falling  of  the  warm,   wel- 
come rain — 
The  heart,  untrammelled,  returns  to  the  parting  of 
the  ways. 


120  Lights  Along  the  Track 

Back  from  the  restless  city  to  peaceful  hamlet,  glen 
and  glade; 
Back  to  the  old,  old  home  .with  dear  mother  waiting 
at  the  door; 
Within  the  shelves  are  bending  with  the  good  things 
she  has  made. 
As   she   gladly   traveled   to   and   fro,   over   the    old 
porch  floor. 

We  often  sigh  for  a  view  of  the  fair  hill-crest's  smoky 
hue. 
For  the   turbulent  river  winding  along  its  woodsy 
way; 
For  the  clannish  friends  of  youth  who  love  their  home 
with  hearts  so  true, 
That  during  the  Old  Home   Week,  at  the  hillside 
farm  shall  stay. 

Dear,    stainless    spot!      We   treasure   every   visit    and 
thought  of  home. 
As  thy   children  are   launched   amidst  the   whirl    of 
life's   career. 
We    yearn    for   that   appointed    week    when    we    shall 
backward  roam 
To    receive    the    soothing    influence    of   childhood's 
home  so  dear. 

Though    many   wanderers    may    find    stranger   hearts 
within  thy  walls. 
Or,    perchance,    rough    hands    may    have    thought- 
lessly torn  thee  down, 


Qood-Bye  Old  Home  121 

Thou  standest  still — a   house   in  memory  that  never, 
never  falls — 
So  we'll  return  to  friends  of  youth  in  the  dear  old 
homestead  town. 

In  God's  own  time,  the  week  shall  broaden  into  vast 
eternity; 
And  countless  trains  shall  speed  along  the  heavenly 
track 
To  the  terminal  of  the  new  home  that  now  in  faith  we 
see, 
Where  we  shall  not  count  a  few  bright  days  till  we 
must  journey  back. 

There  to  live   aeons   and  aeons — heart   to    heart   shall 
meet  at  last; 
And  when  beyond  earth's  last  station  we  have  fear- 
lessly gone, 
And  the  good-byes  and  tearful  eyes  are  ordeals  of  the 
past, 
We  shall  meet  at  Jesus'  feet,  when  the  New  Home 
Week  is  born. 


XXVIII 
GOOD-BYE  OLD  HOME 


TT  HE  blue-bells  all  were  ringing, 
*  And  all  the  birds  were  singing, 
When  I  left  my  hill-side  home. 


122  Lights  Along  the  Track 

I  heard  the  lowing  of  the  kine, 
And  the  sweet  music  of  the  pine, 
When  I  left  my  hill-side  home. 

Oh  how  brightly  shone  the  sun, 
O'er  the  hills  of  Limington, 
When  I  left  my  hill-side  home. 
The  sweet  arbutus  was  seen, 
Running  along  the  dells,  so  green, 
When  I  left  my  hill-side  home. 

Gently  the  zephyrs  swept  along, 
Keeping  time  to  the  birds'  sweet  song, 
When  I  left  my  hill-side  home. 
All  my  friends  came  to  bid  adieu, 
Saying  they'd  miss  me,  they  knew, 
When  I  left  my  hill-side  home. 

The  tall  elm  seemed  to  wave  his  hand, 
And  say,  stay  in  this  verdant  land. 
When  I  left  my  hill-side  home. 
My  friends  would  say,  "Leave  us  not, 
Why  do  you  leave  this  lovely  spot?" 
When  I  left  my  hill-side  home. 

But  waiting  my  coming  was  one  true  heart. 

Who  vowed  to  be  true,  "till  Death  do  us  part," 

Down  in  my  hill-side  home. 

And  that  thought  bore  aloft  my  soul, 

Until  my  feelings  I  could  control, 

When  I  left  my  hill-side  home. 


riy  Village  Home  123 

I  shall  often  think  of  the  pretty  view, 
Of  old  Ossipee  hill  with  its  smoky  hue, 
Just  beyond  my  hill-side  home. 
The  ridge  and  the  woodlands  bright. 
And  the  ponds  forever  in  sight. 
Just  beyond  my  hill-side  home. 

I  can  see  as  plain  as  can  be, 

My  friends  of  youth  so  kind  to  me, 

Down  in  my  hill-side  home. 

I  feel  they  are  not  forsaken  quite, 

For  God  will  be  with  them  the  darkest  night, 

Down  in  my  hill-side  home. 


XXIX 

MY  VILLAGE  HOME 

F\  EAR  hamlet,  embowered  by  wide-spreading  trees. 

^^        How  pleasing  thy  bright  aspect  to  the  eye; 
As  gently  fanned  by  Summer's  breeze, — 

We  view  the  scenes  that  about  us  lie. 
We  list  to  the  tone  of  the  old  church  bell. 

Telling  out  on  the  vespertime  air. 
As  plainly  as  ever  words  can  tell. 

That  'tis  the  hour  of  praise  and  prayer. 

It  brings  to  each  and  every  heart  sweet  peace. 
Peace  of  subduing,  infinite  calm, 


124  Lights  Along  the  Track 

That  sweeps  the  heart  till  its  worries  cease, 
As  the  night  is  cleared  after  the  storm. 

Many  cannot  enter  the  chancel  at  the  hour 
When  praises  soar  the  lofty  arches  grand; 

Yet  the  bell's  tone  wafts  the  melodious  spirit 
To  every  receptive  heart  and  hand. 

By  the  wayside  in  a  rose-covered  cot 

Where  my  soul  has  loved  to  abide. 
Kind  friends  dwelt  near  'mid  the  roses'  bloom 

And  for  dearth  of  friends  I  was  not  denied. 
But  farewell,  dear  rural  cottage  home, 

Teeming  with  roses  and  vines  climbing  high. 
I'm  going  to  leave  your  summer  glories. 

Yes,  leave  you  forever,  dear  home,  good-bye. 


XXX 

MY  HORSE 

'IJU^'HEN  a  boy  in  the  pasture  green; 
• '^  I  found  a  tiny  colt  one  day, 

I  thought  it  the  loveliest  ever  seen 
And  for  it  left  all  work  and  play. 

How  I  loved  to  see  her  run, 

How  proud  was  I  of  her  shining  coat: 
A  happier  life  I  had  begun 

Since  I'd  a  pet  on  which  to  dote. 


Resignation  of  a  Railroad  Conductor  125 


No  king  was  happier  than  I 
To  see  her  in  her  harness  stand, 

Over  the  ground  how  swift  she'd  fly, 
'Till  we'd  at  the  homestead  land. 

All  is  now  changed.     She  is  dead, 
Grown  old  and  glad  at  last  to  rest 

Quiet  and  peaceful  is  her  bed 
In  the  pasture  she  loved  best. 


XXXI 

RESIGNATION      OF      A      RAILROAD 
CONDUCTOR 

THEY  told  him  he  had  better  resign— 
It  was  thought  best  that  he  should. 
They  thanked  him  for  service  time, 
But  the  old  man  ne'er  understood. 

He  had  worn  the  protecting  blue, 
Since  he  was  very,  very  young, 

To  his  orders  he'd  been  true 

And  oft  his  praises  had  been  sung. 

He  liked  the  daily  sea  of  faces, 

Teeming  the  train  alway; 
All  proffered  morning  graces, 

To  him  every  new-born  day. 


126  Lights  Along  the  Track 

He  resigned  with  an  aching  heart, 

In  the  evening  of  his  days, 
To  abide  from  the  world  apart, 

In  his  cottage  by  the  ways. 

In  his  home  he  lay  ill  and  sad, 

As  the  vesper-bells  were  tolled. 
For  nothing  more  he  cared 

Since  he  was  retired  for  growing  old. 


He  missed  the  surging  crowd. 

In  sleep  he  murmured  "All  Aboard!" 
He  listened  for  the  bell  so  loud, 

When  only  the  night  wind  soared. 

He  had  laid  down  his  buttons  gold. 
But  he'd  a  pass  from  earth  to  Heaven. 

There  he  will  see  the  gates  unfold, 
Where  the  eternal  robe  is  given. 

Where  age  cannot  dim  the  eye, 
And  memory  groweth  strong, 

And  then,  he  will  see  the  faces, 
That  he  has  missed  so  long. 


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